


Paragon

by Sans_Souci



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Thor (2011)
Genre: A lot of characters are bisexual, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternative Character Interpretation, Bantering, Blink and you'll miss it, Community: norsekink, Crossdressing, F/M, Female Relationships, Mythology - Freeform, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Really a bag of cats, Retelling, Sexual Content, Sigyn/Sif, femme crushes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sans_Souci/pseuds/Sans_Souci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From girlhood to courtship, a marriage and finally a fall from grace, Sigyn stands by her man. Alternative character interpretation of Sigyn with darker tendencies in an AU re-telling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Noticing Boys

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/3231.html?thread=4986015#t4986015) prompt on the norsekink meme. Sigyn being the supportive spouse without being nice or gentle.
> 
> Notes:  
> As much as I like dueling dicks, strong female perspectives are my kryptonite.
> 
> Not Marvel's version of Sigyn either. Alternative!Sigyn is vindictive, manipulative, shrewish, bossy, sly and will cut a bitch if they got in her way. She is also fiercely loyal to her friends, family and husband--if anyone tries to hurt them in any way, there will be a reckoning. Despite the Lady Macbeth-like tendencies, Sigyn loves Loki all the same despite his flaws and that thing he has about sowing the seeds of his own destruction.
> 
> Sigyn is probably an OC after the alternative character interpretation, but little is actually known of her except for her role as wife and faithful companion to Loki. As she might be a goddess of an even older pantheon, I took some liberties with her backstory. The meaning of her name does not imply that she is gentle or nice. “Victorious girl-friend” sounds more like someone to be reckoned with. So I went with that. Plus girl!crushes in some bits.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Least history and mythology remember me as nothing but a faithful wife who stood by her man, know that I am Sigyn of the crows, Sigyn of the battlefield and Sigyn of the bloody spear. Goddess and shield-maiden am I, battle-born and weaned on war.

My father and mother conceived me on the field of battle after a great victory over the Jötnar and named me for their triumph. Sigyn Sigmundrsdottir might only be remembered as Loki's wife, but the tale is as much mine as it is his.

Sigmundr and my mother Astryd campaigned against the Dark Elves a year or so after the victory in Jötunheim and then again against the Fire Giants of Muspelheim. I was bound to my mother’s back as she fought when no-one else could be tasked to hold me and after that, the cries of battle did not frighten me. I learned to walk in the footsteps of an army. War horses and tracker dogs were like pets to me and I learned to count using arrowheads.

And then we returned to Asgard, home of the Aesir, when the wars were over.

My father was of solid Aesir stock and a war leader in Odin’s army--something of a general and lord with his own holdings. My mother’s family was of an old, old line--as old as the founding stones of Asgard. There were scores of Valkyries and shield-maidens in her family tree, but my mother wore skirts and pinned her hair up when peace reigned.

And she taught me the bow, the knife and the spear along with the wearing of skirts and the tending the hearth as her mother taught her. They had the pragmatic world-view that the universe was not a nice place and nice girls did not very get far. How true it was, in the end.

My courtship of my husband--yes, you heard that right, _my_ courtship--began when I was much younger and only beginning to put aside the trappings of childhood. In other words, it was the time I began showing interest in boys.

I became interested in one particular boy after he cut my best friend's hair. When I say _boy_ , you have to understand that at that age, most girls would refer to the young men as boys even if they were older. The boy was old enough to know better, but he did it anyway and was caught for it.

Loki was a prince of Asgard, but it did not mean that he could get away with a prank that turned Sif's golden hair dark brown. She was inconsolable for weeks. I should know--a good many dresses of mine from that time had large tear stains on them in the exact same place. He was out of my reach for a time though, having been sent to the Dwarfs to see if they had a remedy for the magic blade he had used on Sif's golden locks.

But I had to applaud his nerve, if not his poor planning. I suspected that the prank was done in haste. Only later did I know of his motives, but I had an inkling of them when Loki brought a golden wig back for Sif and he looked to his brother first for approval. And I remembered that it had been Thor who had insisted that Loki find some way to make it up to Sif rather than merely repaying Sif with weregild. The first prince had spoken so heart-wrenching of honour that his brother had been moved into action. Or so everyone thought. Or so it looked on the surface.

The things you learn when you just watched and put two and two together after that . . .

I knew of this even before that incident. Growing up, Sif and I had been as close as sisters. Our fathers’ properties shared a border and we would meet often in a glade by that stream that formed a natural boundary. We played together and shared secrets together under the covers when she stayed overnight in my room or I in hers. I always noticed that she did not like to play house. No, she liked to pick up the wooden blades that her brothers left behind and stick invisible enemies with them.

I caught her at it once and she dropped the play-blade like a hot coal. I could not stand the look of fear in her eyes and I impulsively offered her my long knife--the one I carried strapped to my thigh. I would be punished for losing my weapons, but a few extra yards of tapestry was a small price to pay for the shy smile and the burgeoning spark of something else kindling in her eyes. And from then on, Sif could confide in me and I in her about things like how my mother taught me how to use a bow and knife and would pass on her spear to me. We sparred in our grove until she decided that she would no longer hide her true desires.

It was not precisely _forbidden_ for women to become warriors. Merely that a great many of them did not go further than the basics--the Aesir were a warrior race after all--because they turned to sorcery, marriage and the task of managing everything else when the menfolk were away at war. Someone had to take care of the children and milk the goats while the men went out to club each other insensible. Being a warrior was not considered womanly because it implied that the woman was not willing or ready for the more adult role of wife, mother and mistress of her own household. If only the men knew that most of their wives thought them to be childish and immature . . .

Sif--poor Sif--who adopted a man's dress and armour to spar beside them despite their thinly-veiled scorn and condescension. The fact that the girls of our generation preferred not to show their claws to the menfolk and sharpened them on each other was a poor reflection on my sex. Not that I let them harass her--anyone who dared would find moths nesting in their best dresses and the men . . . well, they found the hilts and handle of their weapons oiled to slickness and their saddle harnesses mysteriously worn down to the breaking point.

I say "poor Sif" because she felt the slings and arrows of their verbal barbs keenly even though she fought to hide it in the first few years when she affected leggings and armour. I do not mock my sister's abilities in battle and fearsome mettle, but she did not have my thick hide. Her tongue might be sharp but mine is a needle-thin poniard when I chose to use it. She had little guile in her, while I bade my time and hoarded my secrets. Yet she would weather the caustic rain of their comments and come out stronger for them--I knew that from the start.

I could not do that. I fear that my spear would be lodged somewhere unmentionable after the first few minutes and there would be the problem of paying a fine to people I did not like. A tough hide I might have, but I owned very little patience for idiots. My father despaired of my temperament, for it meant that the young men stayed away in droves after speaking to me.

But I had better things to concern myself with. A few moons after the radical change in her hair colour, I thought I would cheer both of us up with an adventure.

Sif’s father was hosting a feast and the nobility were in attendance. My family as well, I supposed, but I grew weary of the wine, idle chatter and speculation about the Prince’s upcoming birthday celebration. Thor’s birthday, I mean. There was to be a mock battle in the Prince’s honour. The menfolk were very much excited about it as well and could talk of nothing else.

It was all very boring for anyone who was not invited to fight.

"Sif--hsst!" I peered out at her from behind a pillar and beckoned.

"Do not _hsst_ me--I am not a cat like you," Sif whispered back. But she did move closer to my pillar. She was as bored as I was, I knew.

"Make your excuses and come with me--I have a most excellent scheme."

Sif moved closer to me, intrigued. "What is this scheme?"

But I would not let her hear of it until we were ensconced in a bower in her mother’s garden. 

"The boys are planning for their mock battle, are they not? I say we join in as well." No females had been invited to participate. The fun would be in not getting caught.

"But Sigyn, it's an official event, not a game or a hunt. We have to be there in the audience--"

"And watch the boys go at it, applauding like trained seals at appropriate intervals." I looked at her as my words took effect. Yes, there it was . . .

"Even if we could sneak away and get ourselves armed . . ."

I foresaw this part and had planned for it. "We will go in armour and mask ourselves with a glamour."

Sif's face fell. "But my spell work is poor--"

"And mine is passable for us both."

It was her own need to prove to _herself_ that she could fight like a man in battle that won her over. I had only taken advantage of it. Yes, cunning Sigyn, wilful Sigyn--leading her friends on so that they can fulfil their deepest desires. Bah, I would not even stick my tongue out at the green-eyed cats of the court--their tongues already wagged like panting dogs about Sif and I. 

_Sigyn and Sif--such close friends . . . They were childhood friends, yes, but aren't they a little too old to share a pillow?_

Oh Sif and I did share a pillow, but as sisters. The lying cows--I would dig their eyes out if I could, and turn their forked tongues into the dung that they liked to spew. Was it so difficult for them to conceive of pure sisterhood and a similar love of martial arts? Ah, but I usually hid my inclinations while Sif was open about them.

The exclusion of women warriors from the mock-battle had been the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. For Sif, it had hurt that the young men had been invited, but she and the few shield-maidens of her generation had been left out. It was quite insulting--Queen Frigga had been a shield-maiden and could wield a sword better than many a man, but whoever organised the mock battle was obviously male. I was not as militant as Sif was, but I felt that we should at least try to even the scales a little. And have some fun along the way.

So that was why we submitted to being dressed and primped for the day of the mock battle with token complaints. Leather braes we slipped on under our petticoats and we took turns binding our bosoms flat, giggling like we were two centuries old again as we made false bosoms out of armour padding to doubly disguise our subterfuge. 

Of our main weapons, we had prepared them the night before. Sif's lance and my spear--carefully disarmed of their cutting edges as all the weapons on the field would be--had been wrapped and hidden under a pile of tent canvas at the site of the battle. We had our long knives hidden under our skirts and if there were any other weapons that struck our fancy later on, we would take them from the field.

With elaborate braids holding our hair up and our best skirts swishing demurely around our legs, we followed our parents and their friends to the great field south of the Palace. Once there, we made to join our friends but headed for our hiding place instead to retrieve our weapons and change out of our gowns. 

With four hands, this was accomplished relatively swiftly and I laid my fingers on Sif’s face to work the glamour. It had to be stronger than a mere illusion for if a padded weapon was to connect with our faces, we should bleed and bruise convincingly as the men we pretended to be.

It was a measure of how much she wanted this that Sif did not let the prospect of getting hurt deter her. I made her a strawberry blond knight with a full beard to match. Beards were handy to hide faces and I did not need to work so hard on the details obscured by facial hair. For myself, I created a broad face decorated with a sandy-brown beard and thick brows.

Thus disguised, we mingled with the warriors preparing for the mock battle and fell in when the heralds sounded the trumpets.

Bjorn Triggson was the organiser of this particular festivity--an officious ass and a born administrator. It had not gone his way entirely, because Thor had wanted to participate as well, instead of sitting by watching a battle in his honour. He had little luck in convincing the prince not to join and so there was a slight crease in his brow when he stepped forward to invite Queen Frigga to flag off the start of the battle.

No-one was going begrudge a prince a good old-fashioned brawl for his birthday. And so the prince’s brother was leading the opposing team. That must have really got Bjorn’s beard in a twist.

There were two sides on the field--one under Prince Thor and the other under Prince Loki. Fifty men per side, twenty-five on horseback and twenty-five on foot--all bearing a coloured band on their forearms to distinguish them from the other team. The aim was to capture the opposing side’s standard for as long as one side had five men still standing. To avoid suspicion, we chose a different side to stand on. I had directed Sif to Thor’s cohort because I knew she would want to fight with her friend from the sparring ring. And there had been those looks she had been giving him lately . . .

Noticing boys was contagious.

The first prince being honoured acknowledged the cheers from the crowd. 

“I would that you give your best, brother! Don’t hold back!” Thor declared as he faced his brother from astride his horse. The crowd applauded again. It was expected that Prince Loki’s side would give a good fight before conceding, but Thor was having none of it. Neither was Loki as he nodded to his brother.

“Then may the best side win, brother.”

Thor wanted to win. Loki planned on winning. There was a difference. I could see that Loki had marshalled his men in a specific formation while Thor was relying on a straightforward thrust down the centre of the field.

I was on the left flank along with some pike-men and other spear-bearers--with the points and blades moved, we were actually staff-wielders. Prince Loki’s instructions were simple--unhorse, disarm and disable as many riders as we could while holding the line so that this approach towards the green and gold standard was blocked.

A sound strategy. Others would probably be rallied to attack Thor’s red and gold standard once there was an opening.

The heralds sounded a fanfare as the Queen dropped the gold banner that signalled the beginning of the battle. The roar of a hundred men and two not-quite-men was joined by the cheers of the crowd as the riders advanced.

There was a lot of noise, movement and confusion after that as everyone went at it with a will. As a people, the Aesir did like to fight. Even the spectators were getting worked up.

The thing about wielding a spear was that it gave me a longer reach despite my slighter stature. And my mother had taught me a move from her campaign days to unhorse a man. It required the ability to avoid horses on the field and knowing the precise moment when to plant the butt of the spear into the ground at an angle so that the blade would be driven into the enemy’s chest or abdomen by the force of his charge. Inevitably lethal because if the spear did not gut the enemy, being swept from the saddle would break a few vital bones as well.

Even with the blade of my spear removed from the shaft, I still had to be careful not to kill anyone by accident. The others had to be cautioned as well before the battle commenced. Armour would cushion the impact somewhat, but there would be injuries by the end of this day.

I could have taken one of the horses I had liberated, but a man on horseback was a larger target than a man on the ground. Furthermore, that was not part of the strategy. The addition of horses milling around the field added to the confusion and those on foot had to avoid them and any opposing team members on horseback while holding their own against other attackers on foot.

The sky darkened as the battle progressed. I wondered if Thor’s elemental powers were acting up again. He certainly was having a splendid time if the roaring from his general direction was any indication.

Right when things were getting heated, there was a sudden flash of lightning and the rain poured down in sheets. Somewhere by the tents, Bjorn must be pulling his beard out by now. Not that anyone cared as they continued to bludgeon each other. I kept all comers at a distance with my spear for I did not want to test how my glamour would hold up to repeated contact.

It was becoming less of a mock battle and more of a melee as men slipped and slid through the mud. I leaned against the shoulder of the horse I had stopped during the briefest lull in the fighting.

Where I stood happened to offer a good view of the field where the Princes were mounting attacks aimed at capturing their opponent’s standards. At least I was sure Prince Loki was. Prince Thor was having too much fun just fighting. I saw Sif holding her own--she had even mounted a horse and was giving as good as she got.

I decided that I needed to do something for my heart-sister. Really, the prince had got off too lightly that time. So I crafted a tiny bolt of energy and aimed it to spook the prince’s horse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Getting Noticed

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In retrospect, that might not have been a good move. There were too many people around me.

But no-one had noticed. I had been shielded from view by the milling horses and armoured men.

The black horse reared, its unexpected movement surprising its rider who had been otherwise preoccupied.

Loki had been unhorsed--hardly a serious matter for an Aesir. His side would have tried to form a shield wall while he regrouped, but everything was interrupted by a blast from the trumpet that signalled the end of the games.

There was a moment of confusion as both sides wondered what had happened. Horses, men and princes milled about uncertainly 

Bjorn was running out with the some other officials. “Your Highnesses! I fear that there has been unauthorised use of magic on the field of battle. It appears to have startled Prince Loki’s horse.”

Well damn.

That had been rather reckless, I had to admit. If it had been just been a solo adventure, I could have justified it in the thrill of the moment, but Sif was involved as well. While entering a mock battle uninvited was no great crime and would only earn us an earful, unhorsing a prince was another matter altogether. Especially when certain people were going to make a fuss over it.

“Loki, whatever happened?” Thor asked, brow crinkling as raindrops splashed off his breaded countenance. His hair was soaked and he was splattered with mud, but he was only breathing hard after all the brawling--I mean fighting--he had done.

“There was definitely magic. Just a small amount of it.” Having picked himself from the ground, the second prince was wetter and muddier than his brother and outwardly calm as he soothed his horse.

"Was it an assassin?"

"I doubt that an assassin would use such an uncertain method to finish me off," Loki said evenly even as his eyes scanned the crowd. "I might have angered someone with my pranks though."

"That's . . . most of Asgard then?" some wit quipped. There was some laughter at this.

"It was a prank well-played, if that was its true intention," Loki conceded. "Good Bjorn, call off this stalemate. This is too much of a commotion just for someone spooking my horse."

"Indeed. No doubt my brother would relish catching this other prankster himself," Thor said with a laugh. At least he demonstrated some degree of understanding--Odin's first son was not as thick as he was muscled.

"We shall see." Loki was smiling, but his eyes were not.

A sorcerer like Loki would instantly recognise seiðr. This was getting a little precarious . . .

“Friends, it was a battle well-fought!” Thor’s voice boomed over the rain like the thunder he controlled. “Come join me for a drink if you are so inclined!”

And every warrior cheered in spite of how wet they were and how the battle never actually ended conclusively. Such was the easy, natural charisma of Thor Odinson that everyone started pounding each other on their backs, declaring that it had been excellent sport. I avoided all this manly camaraderie and searched for one face in particular, slinging my arm around padded shoulders that I was familiar with.

Sif’s disguised face peered into mine. “Sigyn, was it you?” she whispered in a male baritone. A small charm to alter the voice box accordingly so that we could roar convincingly.

“Yes--sorry for ruining everything.”

“No--it was fun while it lasted.” She looked genuinely flushed and happy, glamour or no glamour. “And it would have been hard to get away later on if everything finished properly and we’d have to go drink beer with everyone else to celebrate.”

“We’d have to dash for it now if we’re to get back before we’re missed.”

So we slipped away from the crowd and ran for our hiding place behind the tents and off came the armour. Down came the glamour and we were thankful for the rain for we could hide our sweaty hair and rumpled clothes by simply getting soaked in the downpour. Our weapons were hidden to be retrieved later.

We bumped into the princes on the way back to where the spectators were gathered under the temporary shelters. But they saw only Sif and Sigyn, helping each other across the puddles with their skirts bundled up.

“Ladies,” Thor said, nodding to us. Loki’s eyes were still watchful though.

Then came the feasting afterwards and I pretended to partake of a little too much wine. In truth, I was translocating my wine to Gunilla Siegsdottir and Rika Fjallsdottir’s cups. Leaning against Sif’s shoulder, I closed my eyes and rested, exhausted after the excitement of the day and the exertions of both my magic and hefting my spear. Sif was still remarkably cheerful as she chatted about the battle. I was ever ready to pinch her if she started to sound as though she was speaking from experience rather than as a spectator.

Talk amongst the ladies invariably turned towards gossip and who was courting and who was actually that close to betrothal and handfasting. I listened with half an ear and forbore to comment.

It was not the way of my mother’s family to marry their daughters off to any man. Not without an arduous courtship and a good show of their worth on the battlefield in other areas--a span of time within which the lady would get to know the man and find him pleasing or wanting. But there were arranged marriages amongst the courtiers and old families in Asgard. Sif had lived in fear of getting betrothed to a stranger, but gallivanting with warriors had changed all that.

While I trusted that my mother would not sell me cheaply or easily, I could not say the same for my father, who had a good many noble friends with far too many sons close to my age. He might think it prudent to get his eldest, sharp-tongued daughter married off so that my sisters would also be free to marry. Such was the way of his family. 

I would be more inclined towards a man of my mother’s choosing, for she knew me better and would weed out anyone she deemed unfit right from the start. I would be even happier if I was left to my own devices, but doubted that my parents would see it the same way. And I would not be a burden to them . . . Perhaps I would wed someone more like my father, who needed a good shield maiden to guard his back and drive his war chariot. The tyranny of mother-in-laws and relegation to the hearth and nursery awaited and the people around me talked of betrothal and handfastings like giddy girls . . .

There was one other way though. When I was younger, I dreamed would have gone to the Valkyries and pledged my life to eternal service on the battlefields like some of my great grand-aunts--but as it turned out, life had other plans for me. 

After Prince Thor’s birthday feast, Sif and I took advantage of the hangovers that most people of Asgard were nursing to sneak away. We retrieved our weapons and armour so that nothing could be traced back to us.

We thought ourselves safe. Silly us.

And then a message arrived two days later to my father’s house. The second prince would like to call upon my family. Specifically my good self.

Not the first son--golden Thor who brought the thunder--the second son, Loki the sly. Unfortunately for him, he was known as a prankster and no-one knew if he had written in jest or not. It was in my father's mind to reject the offer and take insult on my behalf, but my mother placed her hand on his arm and quietened him with a look.

"What say you, Sigyn?" my mother asked me. "What say you to the prince's suit?"

Already, they have assumed that I had a suitor. But in truth, there was little reason for any man to call upon an unmarried woman in her father’s house beyond courtship.

"I would let him press it so that I might know his mettle first," I replied, stroking the velvet ears of Grey Ragnar, the large tom cat who called our house his home most of the time. I was not one who listened to gossips and swooned over tales of valiant deeds in battle. "Father, sincere or not, he is still a prince of the Aesir. And if he is playing a prank, I will prick him well and send him on his way with just his pride wounded."

Probably. They did not know that I had already stung his pride and bruised his behind.

"Your daughter is cautious and knows her own mind," my mother said to mollify my father. And they both knew that I was enough to scare away a score of princes, so my father calmed himself and composed a reply while I winced inwardly.

Damnation. He had figured it out. There had been precious few practitioners of seiðr in the vicinity that day. Even fewer with a pointed grudge against him, no matter how many pranks he played. Or perhaps my magic had left a signature that could be traced back to me. Either way, I had to be cautious now.

"Well, you have drawn the attention of a prince." My mother bent her shrewd gaze upon me when my father had left with the missive. "I won't ask you how you did it, but have a care. You're young and new to courtship."

I wished that I could tell her that the prince had no intention of courting me, but I could only promise to guard my tongue and my thoughts. And I was fortunate in that my mother did not really mean _you’re over eight centuries old and should be showing some interest in the opposite sex by now_.

I refused to get a new dress for the visit, however my younger sisters Astra and Ashilde badgered me. I chose a plain gown with bands of my mother’s embroidery lining the collar and around the hems--I might as well be comfortable if I was to square off against the prince they called Trickster and God of Mischief. 

So attired with my hair braided up like it was for a visit the Palace, I faced the day stoically as everyone else appeared to have taken leave of their senses. The maids tided and swept the hallway twice before the prince arrived and my sisters kept watching the door like cats stalking a mouse hole.

Whereas I had an accident with a pot of boiling hot ingredients that morning while I was making a draught that was supposed to cure certain maladies of sheep. Scalded myself on the back of my hand too--how dreadfully clumsy of me. A regular pot of hot water or soup would not have done as much harm, but magic-infused brews were a different matter. I would still heal in a day or so. The twins made such a fuss over it that I let them salve it up and bandage it so that it looked as though I was wearing a really thick glove.

The prince noticed it immediately when he called. Just one man alone without an entourage--that actually elevated him in my parents’ eyes because it seemed so practical for a prince. He conjured flowers out of the air for the twins when they opened the door for him and they giggled with pleasure.

I did not get any--probably because I would not giggle at such a trick and knew the workings of it already.

"Lady Sigyn." He leaned over my hand and kissed it--such a pretty gesture from a pretty man. But I suspected that he was inspecting my palm and fingers for the tell-tale calluses--a most difficult task when my hand was swaddled in bandages. "You are injured."

 _And you are stating the obvious_ , I wanted to say, but there were other people around. And I had to be polite. "An accident with a draught I was brewing. I will mend."

Prince Loki met my eyes again--a darker shadow of disappointment in the depths of his. He had been looking for proof that I had been on the field that day. My eyes remained guileless and clear. "I pray that you will mend soon," he said--because there was nothing else he could say.

"There are healers and healing spells--I shall avail myself of them soon," I said demurely. Now it would seem that poor Sigyn had been so eager to keep her appointment with the prince that she had foregone healing spells in her haste. Oh, how the cats in the court would seethe.

As I was injured, he could not suggest that we go riding or have a friendly contest with the archery targets for he was adept with the throwing knives. We had to sit in the courtyard garden, watched by the eyes of the maids, my sisters and the various cats and hounds that wandered through.

I did everything short of simpering at him that day. I hung onto his every word and gave the blandest answers possible to his questions. In short, I acted like the other girls would when confronted with a prince of Asgard. 

Despite all of my playacting, he asked if I would accompany him to a feast three days later. I probably should have simpered.

“I have a prior appointment to keep, good sir.” Oh he was persistent. I would not have a scalded hand three days later.

“An important one?”

“Yes--with friends.” I bit back my grin as I noticed the cats Torne and Tove weaving around his ankles, leaving white hairs all over his black trousers as cats were wont to do

“And what do you do with friends?” Prince Loki reached down to pet the cats, his eyes still on me even as he magicked his trousers free of cat-hair. Yes, I knew he was a sorcerer of some note, but that was just showing-off.

“Riding with my friends, talking of small things.”

“Friends like the Lady Sif?” he asked. “I thought she seems rather preoccupied with my brother’s circle of friends lately.”

“A lady might have more than one set of friends.” I filed that bit of news away for later though.

“Indeed--so why not be friends with another prince?”

“I’m not _that_ inconsistent. You seem very sure that I would throw over my friends if you so much as beckon.” I was getting combative--this would not end well.

“It was merely a suggestion, Lady Sigyn. I find your responses . . . interesting.” He looked slightly triumphant now that I had dropped my façade, damn him.

“I find your responses singularly annoying.” I had nothing to lose now. 

“But you do not find them boring, at least.” Ah, they did not name him Silvertongue for nothing.

“You, sir, assume too much.” I gathered my dignity around me, knowing that if we continued this battle of words, it would end in a shouting match. Well, at least I would start shouting. 

“Well, you did let me visit you in your father’s house,” Loki said, raising one elegant eyebrow at my pique. “Shouldn’t we at least play at courting for a while?”

At least it was out in the open now, but I did not give him the satisfaction. “And you may consider yourself uninvited now, oh prince, for coming with an insincere suit.”

Loki sketched a brief bow and left after that.

My father wore the hang-dog expression that clearly said _that’s another man she sent packing_ while my mother appeared mostly neutral.

“So he’s not coming back again?” my sisters asked and I had to explain that he was not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sif came by later in the day, brimming with news of her own.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” Astra said to her at the door when Sif came in. “Sigyn was visited by Prince Loki and they had words in the courtyard before he was turned out.”

“That was completely unexpected,” Sif said, settling down on a hassock in my room with a barely concealed grin. “I mean _you_ , of all people, having a rough exchange of words with the Liesmith.”

“Your sarcasm has been duly noted. The accident this morning hid my hand, but he knew I spooked his horse anyway,” I said as I set out the items I needed for my spell-casting on a cleared patch of floor. “Make yourself useful and pound this for me.”

She took the pestle and mortar from me and started pulverising the herbs I had prepared. “Won’t you miss me when I go up to the Palace?”

Sif was starting her time as a handmaiden to Frigga. Many ladies from good families did so. My turn was still a while away and a part of me was disappointed that it was something that I was not doing together with Sif.

“I will miss your strength for the crushing of herbs,” I replied dryly. “I already know you’re going to be busy--what other news do you have?”

“I have permission to spar in the Palace grounds. And I plan to train with the weapon masters there. But I will come back to visit and we can still go riding.” She looked to me for understanding--for a sign that I was glad on her behalf.

“Congratulations.” I could not rob her of her joy no matter how sore my mood was. So I hugged her awkwardly with my good arm. “I am happy for you.”

“And I’m sorry you had to injure yourself for subterfuge, but it’s best to steer clear of Loki. He might think it was an invitation to start a battle of pranks.” Sif shuddered as she recalled the last time one of _those_ happened. Everyone had to shake out their boots before putting them on or check their beds before turning in after one particularly persistent plague of scorpions.

“I have started no such thing. Here is a spell here that will mend my skin.” Freyja the Vanir might be an inconsistent mentor in the ways of magic, but she did know her spells. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour to finish.”

“I am not very good at spell work, but you can tell me where to put things,” she offered and all was right with the world again as my mood evaporated almost as quickly as my skin healed.

I was wrong about starting something though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	3. Mixed Signals

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had not lied to the prince. Not exactly.

Three days later, I put on my divided riding skirts and saddled my horse Bera and went out with Sif, Erika Haraldsdotter and Rana Ullsdottir. Erika and Rana, I knew from Freyja’s lessons and they could tolerate my company well enough outside of them.

We brought our hounds with us and packed food in case we did not catch anything substantial. Hunting and sport was not our only purpose though. It was the night of the full moon and Erika, Rana and I planned to harvest a few key ingredients at sunset and moonrise as Freyja had advocated. 

All of us sported bows along with our main weapons. Sif with her double-bladed lance, Rana with her sword and Erika and I bearing spears. It was common enough for families to have daughters trained to bear at least one weapon. In case the menfolk were called away, someone had to keep the wolves away from the sheep. Though to hear my mother speak of it, you had to be able to nurse a babe while holding the enemy at bay with your other arm.

Times were not so dire and we were content with taking game birds flushed out by the hounds. If a boar showed up, we would harry it with our hounds and attempt to take it with our spears. If anything worse showed up, we were equipped to handle it.

We competed to see who could shoot most cleanly to take down prey before settling down to cook the birds to go with our bread and small beer. There was talk of Sif’s time at court, how Queen Frigga disliked mindless nattering and still kept in good form with her blade--Rana had practiced with Her Majesty back when she had been a handmaiden--and about Freyja’s last almighty tantrum when she set her cats on an unfortunate suitor.

Drowsing in the shade of our chosen grove, we were idle for a while before it was time for us to be more productive. It was the kind of day that we would remember as part of our youth--a golden moment outside of time.

Not one for herblore, Sif would take the hounds back while the rest of us foraged by the light of the full moon.

And no, our labours did not require us to be sky-clad or naked. No magician or sorcerer really wants to be foraging around in the bushes without clothes on. 

Later, we separated to perform certain rites when the moon was in a suitable position in the sky. It was not polite to intrude on someone’s spell work. Especially if they were intending something like divination or cursing. The less we knew, the less we could gossip about--this was the way of the _seiðkonur_.

I preferred to leave divination to the ones who were looking for their next lover and curses to those who could bear the price such darker rites. Such a night was also good for infusing items with charms and I worked on some collars that would protect the hounds from mange and bridles for the horses to ward them from horse-flies.

An extremely pragmatic use of magic, but my mother and grandmother had always impressed upon me the importance of stewardship and care for what we had tamed. 

I was considering placing a charm on my spear so that I would never misplace it when I realised that I was no longer alone.

"You’re not with friends tonight, Lady Sigyn." Cat-quiet and almost as sinuous, Loki of Asgard slipped out of the shadows at the edge of the glade.

I suppose we would not be the only ones gathering herbs or practicing magic by moonlight, but this was too much of a coincidence.

“And you are not at a feast, Prince Loki.” He received the briefest of curtsies from me in my divided riding skirts.

“And yet we’ve managed to bump into each other again. Some coincidences are not so fortuitous.” Under that quiet façade lurked a kind of maniac energy that could invent a hundred and one pranks in a day and a tongue that could duel with the best skalds. And what sorcery had he been practicing that night?

"I wasn’t hiding," I informed him. "If I had been a malicious woman who had known of your presence, I would have been bathing in a stream without my clothes on."

"No doubt you would scream upon seeing me and I would have to fight your father for your honour," he said, continuing my narrative in the conventional vein.

"Oh you need not fight my father--just me," I said lightly. No woman of my mother’s line would need a man to avenge her honour.

He held his hands up. "Peace, Lady Sigyn--fighting does not suit this night."

"I never said that my honour did not need avenging. You, prince, have seen a lady in her most private moment," I said, hefting my spear. "I want payment for it."

"Are you the daughter of a merchant, to demand payment so crudely?" he asked.

"And you have insulted my father—except that if I actually saw anything wrong with being a merchant and earning money honestly, this spear would have left my hand by now, good prince."

“A hit--a most palpable hit,” he said, pretending to stagger back.

“But not bloody enough,” I stated before waking the crows and sparrows in the trees around us. It was a spell I was familiar with and expended minimal energy.

When he was distracted, I wove a net of invisibility--just a little bending of the light, really--and threw it over myself. As big as my words were earlier, I had no intention of getting into a fight with actual weapons with the second prince of Asgard.

Ducking into the trees under the cover of the chirruping, disturbed birds, I gripped my spear and held my breath. If he was as good a sorcerer as they said he was, he would see through my invisibility spell in an instant.

But the prince was looking bewildered as he looked to left and right of the glade as though unable to see where I had gone. I could hardly even believe it--

“Your boots still dent the grass,” he said into my ear. It was so sudden that I lost hold of the illusion and whirled around, stumbling into his chest and sending both of us to the ground. Which was at the edge of an incline.

I had to let go of my spear as we tumbled and rolled down the fortunately gentle gradient of that slope. I would not risk breaking its haft or blade in such a careless fashion. What my mother would say about an accident like that was not worth thinking about.

While weapons were fragile, we fetched up at the foot of the incline, winded but uninjured. And quite squashed together.

“Unconventional tactics,” Loki said, lifting himself up on his elbows so that we were not quite so close.

“It wasn’t deliberate, believe you me. And that was a very good illusion--you win,” I said as I stared at his face not three inches away from the end of my nose. “Now will you move first or do I have to?”

A spark of mischief gleamed in his eyes. “I have seldom received such bold invitations.”

“That wasn’t an invitation.” I let my eyelids flutter shut as he leaned closer--

And then I planted my knee in his groin. The choked-off curse was relatively close to my ears as he rolled off me and I eased his way none too delicately.

“You misunderstood--and shame on you for taking advantage of a woman alone,” I said as I got up and brushed the grass off my divided skirts. I still had my long knife, but I hoped that I did not have to use it.

The prince pushed himself off the ground slowly. “Lady Sigyn, have I offended you in some way?” he asked with a barely concealed wince. But he made no move towards me despite the fact that he was faster and the more adept sorcerer. If he had really wanted to force the issue, I would not have lasted two minutes, dirty tricks or no dirty tricks.

“Well, you did cut my best friend’s hair off and made my parents think that you were courting me when you were investigating a prank . . .” I really should rein in my tongue, but I could not help myself at that moment.

“And you unhorsed me in front of half of Asgard,” Loki pointed out. 

Oh well. No point in denying it now.

“Are you that petty, prince of Asgard?” I retorted. “Is your princely dignity as easily bruised as your arse?”

“My princely dignity, as you call it, has been bruised twice by the same hand. Or knee. Truce, Lady Sigyn, I fear I cannot take another bruising.”

I relaxed inwardly when he did not appear overly vexed about my mishandling of the royal family jewels.

“Truce then.” I offered my hand like the warriors did and he clasped it after raising his brows in mild surprise. 

“Will I risk offending you if I offered to walk you home?”

“No. Because I’m riding home and I hope you’ve brought a horse as well.”

He had. We fetched our mounts and rode back to my father’s house at an hour where decent ladies and princes should be in bed. Not together, of course.

Our farewell this time was a lot less cold than the previous one.

I never set out to attract the attention of a prince. And yet one appeared to have landed in front of me. 

Oops. 

Princes were rather difficult to throw back too.

It was the thought of the look on Gunilla and the others’ faces that made me accept his invitation to a wild boar hunt with his brother and his friends.

Later, I realised that I had been referring to him as a man since the day he visited my father’s house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Informal hunts were lax affairs were everyone just turned up with their weapons and however much mead they wanted to cart along. We did not bring the hounds either, for we would be tracking the spoor of our prey the hard way. And there was to be no magic for the extra challenge. Asgardians like Thor and Loki could keep up with any wild boar _sans_ horses and finish it off easily enough, but that would defeat the purpose of hunting for sport and pleasure.

There was also no royal escort from my door, much to my sisters’ disappointment.

I told him so when we met up at the appointed time in the woodlands outside the city.

“Do I have to make it up to your sisters with more flowers?” he asked.

“It’s a fine thing when my sisters are getting more flowers than I am,” I sighed mockingly. 

“I’m still working on the spell for that--“

Whatever he was working on had to wait, for a loud hail greeted us both. The others had arrived, harnesses jingling and in high-spirits.

“Your friend Sif and the Warriors Three,” Loki said, indicating the others. Sif beamed at me from astride her horse. “Fandral the Dashing, Hogun the Grim and Volstagg the Volumous. And I don’t believe I need to introduce my brother Thor.”

 _Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three and not Thor and the Warriors Four_ , I thought. Sif had made some inroads towards being accepted by male warriors. And a prince as well. I wondered if anyone missed the extremely obvious omission in the naming of their little group or even thought to bring it up to Thor . . .

But I was disposed to be friendly to them because they were Sif’s friends as well. Sif would not befriend them for long if they were insincere in their acceptance of her warrior ways. She knew what condescension looked like from all angles after so long.

“But you should introduce us, Loki! This must be the maiden who has made my brother take uncommonly bold steps in wooing,” Prince Thor boomed, swooping down to kiss my hand. I could have corrected him on several counts there, but . . .

“Thor means he actually asked someone along for once.” At this challenge to his title of the Dashing, Fandral had to ham it up as well. “You must have a tongue of gold then, Lady Sigyn.”

Volstagg, safely married, did not have to fool around to prove anything and Hogun was so used to this that he did not even roll his eyes at the display.

“A tongue like a spear, according to my father.” I played it up, flirting with Thor and Fandral while looking at Sif discretely. _Do not fret, sister, this was all play._

It would have been all fun and games except I noticed that it was not Sif who looked momentarily disappointed.

Loki had a particular look on his face as he mounted his horse--there one moment and gone the next. I suppose it was harder being the less demonstrative brother who was not known to court ladies but scare them with plagues of scorpions or spiders. But he had been a lot more animated a few nights ago . . .

How tiresome. I swore to resolve this by the end of the hunt.

Hogun started us off by finding the tracks and signs of the local boar population. We rode our mounts with minimum chatter, spreading out to cover more ground. 

When we did flush out a boar, it dashed out from cover nearest to Sif, who gave a shouted warning before chasing it.

It was a male boar with long formidable tusks, not as dangerous as a female with children nearby, but fast enough to lead us on a merry chase. The boar would either escape or be cornered at bay.

The boar was a wily thing and gave us the slip despite the speed and agility of our horses. As no magic or other abilities were to be used, the boar escaped to fight another day and we had a good laugh about it before starting again.

I lagged back a little then, saying that my horse might have something stuck in her hoof, all the while indicating to Sif that she really should ride on with Thor and the others. 

Loki hung back and dismounted to help me check on my dear Bera for it was not done for a prince to abandon the lady he had asked along.

“It was nothing. Perhaps just a stone that already fell out. Bera’s all right,” I said, straightening up from where I was industriously examining my horse’s hooves one by one.

“Shall we rejoin the others then?” he asked.

“Shhh--I heard something . . . Over there, beyond the ash tree,” I whispered. 

I was not sure if my mummery was convincing enough, but he followed me to a copse of trees, as quiet as a ghost.

“Alas, I do not see a boar,” Loki stated after a few moments.

“Alas, I do see a bore.” I turned to him. “He’s in your head and looks like you.”

“Lady Sigyn, my politeness only goes so far,” he warned.

“You’ve not known me long then. Now that we’re alone, you can say anything you want instead of keeping mum.”

He tried to make light of it. “I have been told that my conversation leaves something to be desired.”

“Were you insulting them or trying to flirt?” I had to ask, for his verbal barbs were legendary and several ladies had been much appalled by it. “Though I much prefer the frankness displayed some nights ago.”

He raised an eye brow in a manner that told me that he had practiced in a mirror until he could do it effortlessly. Always with the acting, this prince. “That isn’t the way most people flirt, I think.”

“Then don’t think,” I told him and kissed him full on the lips.

I was rather forward that day. And I surprised us both by leaving him standing there with his mouth half-open like a fish and not letting him speak to me in private for the rest of the day before leaving at the end of the day with Sif. Mixed signals all over the place--I suppose I subconsciously wanted him to be as confused as I was.

I have no idea what would have or might have transpired after that, for my parents decided to pack us all off to my grandparents’ estate by the coast for “some bracing sea air” that very week. Thor took Loki, Sif and the Warriors Three on another adventure shortly after we left and we did not see each other again for several months.

That, I suspected, was what my mother had intended when I discovered later that she was the one who had suggested the trip to my father.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, I know. It was a most lukewarm start to a relationship. But I was not looking for a romance to sweep me away even then. It took a theft, a ransom demand and the need for even more cross-dressing for us to meet up again under somewhat unusual circumstances.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Dressing Downs and Dressing Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No mythology was harmed in the writing of this fic. Probably.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some months later, it happened that Freyja had finally answered a number of petitions for her time from Erika and a few others who dared to call themselves her apprentices.

The foremost practitioner of seiðr beside Odin All-Father, Freyja the Vanir was the most sought after foreigner in Asgard. Sought after by women and the handful of men who sought higher mastery, I mean. The talented and magically-inclined vied for her somewhat spotty tutelage for she only took on a few students every year. Very few stayed on though.

Freyja was temperamental, eccentric, prone to having moods and was the fairest of her race. Fairer than all her potential and current apprentices put together. Not many of the Aesir women could stand her company for long. It was not a matter of liking her, for many a woman had found her man trying to catch a glimpse of Freyja while ostensibly collecting them from her great hall within the Palace complex. The men . . . well, the men who could stand in Freyja’s presence for longer than hour without getting distracted were not interested in her beauty or her body. The scandal of it all was that she was a married woman with an absent husband--Óðr the Wanderer.

Having no swain of my own and an appreciation of the eccentric when it was paired with the things I wanted to know about, I stuck it out with a few others of similar inclinations and no issue with an older, married foreigner who made all of us look like crows.

Seated cross-legged on the floor of Frigga’s bower, we were a very mixed group comprising of talented former-strangers like Erika and Rana and some acquaintances from my girlhood like Sigrath Frodesdottir. 

Unlike Asgardian dwellings, Frejya’s bower within her hall had a high ceiling that opened to the sky. A metal framework arced overhead, twined with various vines and plants of foreign origin. More shrubs lined the borders of the room, making it more of a garden than a bower. Fountains dotted the room and streams trickled through the undergrowth, making a pleasant counterpoint to the song of the birds that roosted high on the walls and in the vine trellises.

Freyja’s army of cats wandered in and out of the great room and every now and then, we could hear the snorting of her boar in the shrubbery. The unique surroundings were beautiful, but strange to the Aesir, who liked things slightly more orderly and geometric.

The Lady Frejya herself crouched over a sand-tray in her green velvet gown banded with gold embroidery on the sleeves, drawing the runes of shaping and binding with the tips of her long fingers. Her long red-gold tresses were piled up on her head and left to tumble artlessly over her shoulders, on which the links of great Brísingamen gleamed like a gold and silver spider web studded with diamond dewdrops. Perfectly lovely for all that she had not even looked into a mirror in the morning to arrange her gorgeous hair. It would be easy to dislike her, but when she concentrated, she was a good teacher for the Vanir were a people who knew the workings of seiðr in its myriad forms.

We were concentrating on her words and her hands when one of her cats yowled to announce visitors at Freyja’s door.

“What is the cause of this interruption?” Frejya looked up, her hand moving in a single motion that caused the sand in the tray to smooth itself, erasing all the runes on it. “ _Both_ the Odinsons now?” 

We all turned to the entranceway then to see both of Asgard’s princes striding into the bower.

“Lady, my brother craves a boon of you,” Loki began with a bow. Thor did look terribly uncomfortable at that point, his hands hanging uselessly at his side and clenching with some sort of inner frustration. _Wait, what was missing here?_

“What is it now? Have I not loaned you my cloak of feathers yesterday?” Freyja demanded, her wide green eyes flashing dangerously.

Thor chose that most inopportune moment to interrupt. “Have you a wedding gown you can wear? We must hasten to Jötunheim for Thrym has asked for your hand in marriage as ransom for Mjölnir.”

All of us on the floor would have gasped if we were not holding our breaths at that point.

"What manner of insult is this?" Freyja drew herself up to her full height, which was fairly impressive, mind you, especially when her hair added around half a foot to it. "I am not your chattel or possession to bargain with! Just because my husband is not here, does not give you leave to marry me off!"

Did I mention that she was as touchy as anything? I think it had something to do with being desired by the Aesir, the Vanir, several kinds of giants, Dwarfs and just about everyone with functional hormones. Or a pulse. I will confess to a mild infatuation with her, which was cured within the span of our first lesson.

"But Lady Frey--"

"But _nothing_!" The floor trembled and I exchanged a look with the others across the sand-tray. Freyja was well and truly angry now. "If you make a mess, you clean it up yourself!"

"No need to take umbrage, Lady Frejya," Loki said. "We only suggest a subterfuge--"

" _Aesir puppy_ , you have not seen _umbrage_ ," Freyja spat and the hall shook again with the force of her rage. Even while angry, she was a sight to draw all eyes. "Turn yourself into a woman if you wish to play at subterfuge!"

With a loud snap, her necklace fell from her shoulders to land on the floor. At that point, the other ladies and I got up and all but pushed the princes out of the bower and the front door as Freyja stalked away like an angry cat, hair bristling magnificently all the same. Sif and the Warriors Three were cooling their heels just outside. Of the four, Sif was the only one who did not look surprised at the princes' swift exit.

"I told you this was a bad idea," she said to the other three companions. “Freyja’s as touchy as all her cats put together.”

"Your Highnesses have really done it now," Erika said, irritated that the lesson had been interrupted. "She'll be in a mood for the rest of the day."

"But we only requested a little assistance--"

"Hush, she might go to Odin All-Father if she is irked any further," I said in a stage-whisper. That was enough to make Thor look abashed. Obviously someone did not want Odin to find out that one of the greatest weapons of an age had been stolen.

“What happened?” I asked of the others as the Princes put some distance between themselves and Freyja’s towering tantrum. 

“Thor should tell it,” Sif said, glancing sharply at the Prince who had accepted her presence amongst his companions without reservation.

“It was a heinous theft,” Thor began. “But not truly the stuff of sagas.”

I folded my arms sternly. "I think we deserve some entertainment for having that lesson interrupted."

Loki conceded that point. “It’s not a very long tale, Lady Sigyn. My brother had stopped to help a fair maiden, who was stranded for her horse had a lame leg.”

“But she was no maiden,” Fandral said with a knowing lift of his eyebrows.

“Yes, but you believed your eyes as well,” Sif reminded him. “It was no maiden, but a shape-shifter. She had you all eating out of her hand.”

“I was suspicious of her from the start,” Hogun stated. And we all knew he was telling the truth because he was suspicious of all strangers and unlikely to be bamboozled by a pretty face. “Her horse had a harness inconsistent with the region we were in.”

“Would that you had spoken earlier,” Volstagg admonished his taciturn friend. “Thor had carried the horse all the way into the next town by then.”

I had to stifle the laughter that was bubbling up at the thought of Thor with a horse on his shoulders. Sif had a suspicious twinkle in her eyes, but it was not polite to laugh at your prince after he had been the victim of theft.

“And he did not notice that Mjölnir was missing until we had left the lady and her horse at the farrier and retired to a tavern,” Loki concluded. “The ransom demand was delivered later--”

“It was trickery!” Thor cried. “Like a common pick-pocket!”

“But it worked,” I remarked under my breath to his brother.

“That it it did,” Loki said, lagging back to walk beside me. "This is a fine tangle . . . But the Lady Freyja has given me an idea. Though it might have been Heimdall who planted the seed of it when we were on the Bifrost earlier today . . ."

“And what, pray, is this idea?”

He told me and I had to admit that I almost bent over double with laughter. And then he asked me to help him and his brother with certain things that only a woman could obtain.

“You will owe me a full telling of the tale. You’ll owe all of us,” I said, waving a finger under his nose.

“All of whom?” Loki looked at me warily. As well he should be.

“Well you don’t expect me to be able to whip up a wedding dress on my own, do you?” I asked. “And find a disguise for you as well?”

“Suddenly, I fear for my dignity again.”

“Oh you don’t even know. Meet me here again in an hour with your brother and I will have what you need,” I said before skipping--yes, _skipping_ \--off to recruit others with clever fingers and an excellent sense of humour.

I found Erika and Rana back in Frejya’s bower, trying to convince her cats to let them at the herb patch.

“Sigyn, what are you plotting?” Erika asked suspiciously when I approached.

“I do not plot--I am merely a messenger.”

When they heard Loki’s plan, they all agreed to help at once. Erika roped in Ingrit Odellsdottir for she had a great many older sisters who passed on their clothes to her to alter for her own use.

Giggling like young girls, we sprinted away to gather the necessary materials. Returning as promised, we alarmed both Thor and his brother with our enthusiasm.

Sif and the Warriors Three watched in bemused silence as we pulled a richly embroidered dress over Thor’s head and clucked when he got stuck halfway.

“Just a few more adjustments,” Ingrit murmured, protocol forgotten as she ripped the seams open to accommodate Thor’s shoulders.

We had to tack on a velvet cape to cover his neck and back for the dress could not be laced up properly. The skirt hems were unpicked so that they would finally reach Thor’s ankles. No delicate shoes would fit Thor’s feet, so we covered his boots in velvet. Around his head and shoulders, we draped three layers of veils so that his bearded countenance would not show.

He made a most lovely bride.

“And the finishing touch . . .” I came forward with Freyja’s great necklace and draped its magnificent length around Thor’s neck. It was a necklace that would have weighed a Midgardian down like an anchor for the sheer weight of its gems and precious metals. The prince’s shoulders supported it well and as Frejya was known for her ownership of Brísingamen, it added a certain amount of verisimilitude to the charade. 

“Sigyn, Frejya will be livid!” Erika exclaimed in shock at the same time Ingrit said, “You picked up Brísingamen?”

“It will be just a loan,” Loki said in a pacifying tone.

“It’s not as though Freyja can get any more incensed at you two now,” I pointed out. “So long as you get Mjölnir back along with the necklace, she won’t notice that it was missing for a few hours.”

By that time, Hogun was studying the sky above and anything else around us as he strove to keep his face straight. Fandral was collapsed on the ground with Vostagg, prostrate with silent laughter and massive guffaws respectively. Sif’s hand was clamped over her mouth as her shoulders shook with mirth.

Loki was doing an excellent job of holding his amusement in check. Until we turned to disguise him

We dressed Loki in one of my plainer gowns--a deep green one that looked good enough for the personal maid of royalty. The hems had to be let out and adjustments had to be made for the dress to fit his shoulders, but we all agreed that the colour looked very good on him.

“Needs stuffing,” Rana stated as she surveyed our work--still an inch or two wanting at the ankles, but quite fetching all the same. “The dress doesn’t hide the fact that he’s flat where he shouldn’t be.”

We nodded as one and advanced on him. Loki backed away and held up his hands.

“That is most unnecessary, ladies, I can disguise myself well enough.” And to prove it, he changed before our very eyes.

As occasional students of Freyja, we were not new to sorcery, but this was something far more advanced than what we had tried. And so we converged upon him and the prince was most discomfited by the attention.

“It feels real,” Erika said in a hushed voice as she stroked his hair, now a jet-black waterfall flowing down his back. Actual transfiguration--changing one thing into another--was an achievement.

“Very real indeed,” Rana murmured as she circled the formerly tall and slender prince, now a tall and slender girl with green eyes who filled out the dress rather nicely.

“I’ll say,” I said, cupping one breast and hefting it experimentally. “It’s better than padding.”

Sif coughed at that moment and the dark-haired maid appeared to have the expression of a distressed rabbit. The Warriors Three were staring at us with open mouths.

‘What? I had to check if it was convincing.” I lifted my hand and examined a lock of hair from his--or her--shoulders. “You should know what males of any race are like with the maids--don’t be surprised if you get pinched.”

“Like this,” Erika said, suiting action to her words when she pinched Loki’s bottom and eliciting a muffled yelp.

“Good ladies, kindly unhand my brother--we must drive to Jötunheim soon.” Thor must have felt sorry for Loki, who looked very much like a landed fish at that moment.

“Not before we braid up his hair,” I pointed out. ‘And you’ll have to think about what to say to Heimdall this time.”

We ceased harassing the prince and arranged his hair--such lustrous hair it was too. I loaned him my hairpins to anchor the braids to his head and he looked like a most proper maid.

“I haven’t had so much fun in centuries,” Rana confessed when they departed hastily. 

Sif and the Warriors Three were along to provide back-up if Thor and Loki required it. I doubted that they would once Thor had his hands on his hammer. A few hours in a too-tight dress with scratchy embroidery would make anyone ready to commit murder at the drop of a hat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m not one for apologising . . . You would have done it too if you were in my place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“--and he smote the giant with Mjölnir, slew his henchmen and laid waste to his hall and holdings,” Loki concluded with a flourish.

“And did he look pretty while doing it?” Rana asked of the battle in which the dastardly giant had been defeated and Mjölnir had been retrieved.

“No, Loki was prettier,” Sif declared. We were gathered in the private chambers of a mead hall to hear of their deeds now that the theft had been dealt with.

“I am not one for smiting, but someone had to pick off the ones that Thor missed.” Here, in front of a private audience, Loki was more open with the details of the pantomime they had staged and the fight that followed.

“I did not miss many,” Thor rumbled, his mood restored to its normal boisterousness now that he was armed again.

“I did not miss at all,” Loki countered. “But I did not keep count this time.”

“Another time then, brother!” Thor led a round of toasts and consumed more beer. 

The ladies sipped at their mead and flirted half-heartedly with Fandral. Sif was just a little put out by not having a chance to fight, but this adventure was Thor and Loki’s and she was happy for their victory.

I was just entertained by the thought of our princes battling in dresses. Reflecting upon the whole episode, I realised that it was all too true that no man was a hero to his valet. A fact that Prince Loki noticed and mentioned at the end of that night when the ladies excused themselves from further quaffing.

“These exploits do not impress you,” he said, appearing like a wraith beside me the moment I reached the street outside.

Granted, I did greet him and the others at the Bifrost that day with a hurried, “Freyja would like her necklace back now. And her cloak of feathers.”

Which they returned, along with a handful of my hairpins.

My dress was shredded and blood-stained beyond repair. Of the cobbled-together wedding dress, the less said about the state of it the better. Fortunately, we had not been expecting to get our clothes back in one piece. The first prince’s exploits were rather well-known.

“I was amused by it. It is difficult to be impressed when you’ve sewn a prince into a wedding dress for a ruse that only a short-sighted giant would fall for.”

“It was a plan with a reasonable chance of success,” Loki said, matching my stride as we walked. “The fact that my brother was sewn into a wedding dress was incidental and if it made some ladies amused, then all the better.”

“You were never one for amusing the ladies,” I pointed out.

“But they were overly amused at the expense of my brother and I,” Loki said without rancour even as he looked at me pointedly. “Fair payment, I suppose.”

“Fair payment indeed!” I stared right back at him. “You already know that most people would love to see you get pranked.”

“Yourself and the other ladies included?” Loki asked.

“You set off an invasion of spiders in the weaving room when Queen Frigga was not around. Rana was one of the handmaidens there that day.”

“Ah, I did not know that . . .” But he did not look apologetic at all. “And the others?”

“Erika? I think you embarrassed Hrolf in front of everyone. She’s sweet on him. Or was it the plague of scorpions?” I pondered.

“I will never live that down,” he said lightly. “But at least it was memorable.”

“They were,” I admitted. “They weren’t poisonous--just frightening to people who thought they were. How did you do that?” I asked.

“You examined them up close?” He looked momentarily gratified. “I only gave temporary mass and movement to an illusion--there is no venom in illusions.”

I would have kept the one I examined to study it, except that it had vanished with the others when Loki’s magic expired. No residue, no mess. Not bad for a construct.

“Everyone screamed first though.” But not my mother. She had crushed the first one she saw with the pestle. The rest of us rallied after her example and I had been able to trap one under a pot.

“It was a successful experiment. But rather draining and demanding,” he admitted. “Illusions without substance are much easier.”

And it was much easier to talk to him when we were speaking of things that intrigued us--he did not need to affect his façade and I did not have to pretend to be interested in the person I was speaking to.

The walk back seemed much shorter and it was a cordial parting of ways.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We did not move in the same circles though. I only saw him more frequently when I took my turn as handmaiden to Queen Frigga and stayed in the Palace.

It was not all about weaving and tapestry, fortunately. The Queen required that her ladies be well versed in holding a weapon as well as a conversation. This sort of thing was not out of place in a race of warriors as it was rather awkward having men guarding a Queen when she was in her bath, in her solar and going about her everyday duties. 

They did include _some_ weaving and tapestry. I did not like looms--great clacking mechanisms, the lot of them, but I learned along with everyone else.

Frigga’s handmaidens were often called upon to spin threads from the wool of her own flocks of sheep. The threads Frigga used later in her great loom. Her weaving was something that even the stoutest of hearts would steer clear of, for Frigga knew more of prophecy and divination than Freyja. But the Queen did not speak a word of what she knew and we could not decipher any known pattern or message in her weaving--not that we looked too closely all the same.

So we were a group of ladies who were required to spin, converse reasonably well and if the situation called for it, stab the enemy with a drop spindle while valiantly sounding the alarm and spiriting the queen to safety. Or something similar. I wore my long knife under my skirt as usual, because while the most pampered noble lady at court knew how to defend herself, the more practical just armed themselves. Death over dishonour was well and good--provided it was the death of the one bent on dishonouring you.

You might think it boring, but we were kept busy most of the day with our tasks and most evenings with functions and feasts. The Queen did not actually require an entourage of us trailing after her at all hours. Frigga’s training was also about being the mistress of one’s own household and based on the philosophy that if you could handle the inner workings of a busy Palace, you could handle just about anything. With Freyja’s occasional lessons, research, visiting my family and going out riding with friends, I was well and truly busy. 

It was sometimes quite soothing to be able to sit down and just watch the spindle twirling its way to the floor. 

I was contemplating my drop spindle one morning and thinking about what a relief it would be to have more free time as there was no feast tonight when a black cat jumped through the window and caught the thread, unwinding my work as it careened around the room.

Cursing it loudly for the Queen and the other ladies were not within earshot, I got up and gave chase. I had to run through many a corridor before it swerved and dragged its new toy away into the bushes of one of the courtyard gardens that the Queen liked to design.

I hesitated, unwilling to use magic to root out a felonious feline from the Queen’s shrubs. Bending to peer into the bushes, I wished that I had a bit of meat to tempt the cat out with. “Come out you mangy beast--”

“What are you looking for?” No sound had precluded the second prince’s appearance at my side as usual. It was fortunate that I did not startle easily.

“A cat. Who might be turned into a length of cat-gut eventually if I don’t get my thread back.”

“Like this you mean?” A spindle of woollen thread was dropped into my hands, all neatly wound up as though a cat had not dragged it down an entire wing of the Palace.

“You were the cat?” His shape-shifting ability was impressive to say the least.

“You’re fast,” he said and pulled me behind the trunk of a venerable tree. 

“And you’re sly. Why did you draw me out here?” I asked.

“Because I imagine I have to give something back to you.” And he kissed me on the lips in the shade of the tree.

“You have a very good imagination,” I said when we paused for breath. But I liked it enough to let him do it again.

A soft presence at my ankles made me look down--the black cat from before was rubbing against me and gave an inquisitive mew.

“Liar,” I accused. A half-hearted accusation at best, for Loki was not called Silvertongue and Liesmith for nothing.

“I did not say I was the cat--you did,” Loki pointed out.

“You did not refute it.”

“I did not--until puss here decided to thwart me,” he said ruefully as he picked up the cat and scratched her under the chin. The cat approved of this treatment heartily.

“Opportunist. Liar by omission.”

“I could say the same of you,” he stated dryly.

“I liked you a lot more when I thought you could change into a cat.”

The clearing of a throat announced Queen Frigga’s presence. She too could move without sound if she was so inclined.

Loki turned, lightning quick and still holding the cat. “Mother.”

“Your Majesty.” I curtsied hastily. “I should return to the--”

“I was looking for the thread actually.” Frigga plucked the spindle from my fingers and swept on serenely. If she was surprised at finding her son and one of her ladies standing a little too close to each other in the garden, it did not show on her face. “Good day, Loki, Lady Sigyn.”

Only the cat remained unfazed by all of this and shamelessly demanded more scritchings.

We went our separate ways swiftly after that because it had evolved into one of those moments where there was too much awkwardness to bridge even with a cat.

The black cat joined me in my room at the Palace that night, hoping for a little more attention.

“Puss, you are friendly one,” I said, familiar with sensation of a cat hopping into my lap as I sat reading. Not as broad as Grey Ragnar and lighter than Torne and Tove . . . “You can be Alfdis, light as a spirit.”

Alfdis cared more for a hand stroking her ears and a warm spot on my bed, of course. In the days to come, she would prove to be a mighty hunter of thread, jumping out to bat at my spindle or create chaos amongst the ladies by unwinding their spools of yarn.

Then one evening she came to me with something white around the base of her tail. It was a piece of parchment, cleverly folded into a ring.

The message written on it comprised of three simple words: _Follow the cat._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	5. Made of Stone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I followed the cat.

Intrigued by the message that Alfdis carried despite having a rather good idea of who the sender was, I padded out after her black-furred form. 

I had put on my riding leathers for I was following a cat and knew not what corners Alfdis would climb into. It turned out to be a fortuitous choice for Alfdis hopped out of a casement window onto the adjoining rooftop.

Clambering out after her, I scanned the rooftops of the vast Palace complex. This was rather complicated for a night-time adventure, but I was willing to play along for now. I just hoped that it was not another elaborate prank. I was fresh out of ideas.

Alfdis led me along the gleaming rooftops before hopping into a centre of what looked like a circle of runes roughly five hand spans wide. And then she abruptly vanished.

Ah, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I stepped inside the circle of runes, recognising them as a sort of teleportation spell. He had better have got it right, or else Alfdis and myself were going to wind up in several places all at once.

As I suspected, the spell activated the moment something landed within its circle and magic flared up around me.

The energies of the teleportation matrix, if you prefer the technical term for it, faded away in seconds and I was still standing on a roof. A familiar one at that. In front of me, Alfdis was receiving a treat from the hand that had drawn the circle.

“How long did you spend training Alfdis to do that?” I asked as I stepped out onto the glided tiles that formed the roof of Freyja’s hall with its open centre, much like the eponymous part of a Midgardian pitcher plant.

“Long enough. She learns faster than my brother, at least,” Loki said, standing up and brushing the dust from his knees. “Not the least bit afraid of teleportation.”

Alfdis purred contentedly at the praise. Or perhaps she was happy about the treat.

I was not sure what I felt about him training the cat to come to him from a spell circle, but I was interested in the rune magic for teleportation.

If I looked back over the Palace complex, I could see the roof I had formerly stood on about half a mile away. “What’s the greatest distance the spell can manage?”

“I’m testing that now.” He gestured at various instruments of measurement and the telescope set out on the roof alongside chalk and some drawing tools.

“You’re lucky Freyja isn’t complaining about you using her roof as a workspace,” I said as I examined his work. In the meantime, Alfdis grew bored of us and climbed down through the non-existent ceiling of Freyja’s bower.

Standing on the roof of Freyja’s hall, we contemplated the depths of the bower below--fetching Alfdis out would be a chore. “No doubt she will make friends,” I said. “And find her way out later. Freyja likes cats anyway, so she will be fed.”

“She’s not a recluse, you know,” Loki said at last. “Freyja, I mean. I cannot actually sense her in there tonight.”

“I had suspected as such.” It had been too quiet in there of late. I looked up from the darkness of said lady’s courtyard-bower to address Loki. “Has she spirited herself away with a retinue of Valkyries?” 

“To other Realms, I suspect.” Loki glanced back up at me. “She probably searches for her husband.”

“Poor Freyja,” I said, meaning every word of it. She had done little to deserve a man who left her alone for centuries. And what sort of a man was he, to have the fairest and most desirable in all the Realms chasing after his coattails when he would only return once in a while to frequent her bed?

Perhaps that was why she loved him--the only one in all the worlds who did not chase her.

“But she knows of the hidden pathways and need not petition Odin or Heimdall for access to the Bifrost.” Loki had a singularly thoughtful look on his face as he considered the other ways to traverse the worlds.

“Or even if she does use the Bifrost to leave, she is not limited to just one Realm,” I chimed in.

“I doubt she leaves traces of her work,” the prince said as the both of us looked to the opening in Freyja’s roof again. It was a good three-storey drop at least.

“But we will not know until we try,” I ventured. “Provided she has not warded her hall . . .”

“The cat got through,” Loki pointed out.

“Alfdis gets everywhere and Frejya doesn’t mind cats wandering in and out . . .” I pondered our chances of getting in and out without incident. “And you said to follow the cat.”

“So I did.”

In the end, he conjured a rope and we cast it down through the roof opening without triggering any warding spells. He went down first and I descended a few moments later when he did not turn into a radish or something small and furry.

The snuffling and rooting of her boar was not evident in Freyja’s lush bower. In fact it was decidedly empty of cats even though the faint underlying smell of cats could be detected.

How many cats did she need to harness her chariot anyway?

After testing the wards for anything that would be triggered by minor magics, Loki summoned light so that we could see instead of stumble around. The great double doors leading into the bower were locked though, so we were left very little to look at unless we wanted to try our hand at housebreaking as well.

Noiselessly as the spirit she was named for, Alfdis emerged out of the shrubbery like a black panther in miniature and miaowed at us.

“What is it now?” I asked the cat. “Is there truly no-one at home?”

Alfdis’ only reply was to walk out and sit down on one particular clearing in the ground.

“It’s warmer here,” I said after crouching down to pick the cat up. “There was a working . . . just here, but she erased it or set the spell up so that it would erase itself.”

“But if she used a physical means of casting it, then there might be a way to see what was done.” Brows furrowed in thought, the prince paced around the space. He did relish a challenge and soon we were grinding up chalk and collecting the finest dust we could find.

We scattered the dust around the circle and fanned it inwards. We saw it then, very faintly, runes traced out by dust.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Replicating the more complex transportation matrix was a lot harder than that just finding the runes. For one thing, it was incomplete--gaps lefts deliberately or otherwise were scattered around the matrix. The energy component was odd and so were the entry of coordinates.

It was something to work on in addition to all the other projects we thought up when I was invited by the prince to his stone-lined workroom.

Contrary to what a lot of people thought about rites involving seiðr, we spent a lot of time on the floor with chalk and rune circles, testing out components that worked and did not work. When rune circles and gathering ingredients became boring, we dallied and played games involving forfeits. Ridiculous things, really. Like having him wear an apron while preparing components of the craft or seeing how many kisses it took to distract me from holding up an illusion.

That explosion in the warded chamber he used as a workroom was entirely his fault though, no matter what he claimed. Alfdis’ presence and potential meddling might have contributed to it, but cats were even more difficult to control than most random factors.

Frigga had suggested that we take such things outside the Palace. Preferably somewhere outside the main city for everyone’s peace of mind.

This suited Loki well, for the princes had the use of a hunting lodge in the forest for longer, more social hunts. It took a short time to convert one of the unused outbuildings into a roofless structure that could be covered as when it was required and Loki moved his larger workings to a place where only the deer and the birds would be startled by loud explosions.

Thor came in every now and then to remind us that all work and no play made Loki and Sigyn a rather dull pair. And we would humour him by going along with him and his companions to hunt when we had the time. I had less time because I could only go out there on the days I did not have duties to perform. But it was enough to fill my free hours and we were glad of it.

There were a few problems, of course. People talked. Most of it was nonsense, but it did not mean that I had to like it.

Working in the Palace, I could not help but overhear things. One of my duties as a handmaiden included overseeing communal meals and feasts. I would check the dishes from the kitchens with another lady on duty and passed them on to the servitors.

Another duty was to see that the mead and wine did not run low at the tables. We would send servants to refill them or fetch new casks to be broached whenever necessary. And no-one really noticed the handmaids on duty because they were a part of life here in the Palace as much as the servers were--practically invisible. Walking around the kitchens and the feasting halls, I overheard a good many things because people tended to be freer with their tongues when they thought that the subject of their gossip was elsewhere and they had drunk too much.

“I wonder what it is that the prince plots up there . . . not another plague of scorpions, I’d hope.”

“Sigyn’s not one for scorpions. Crows, perhaps.”

“Careful, she’ll take your hair and you’ll be bald by morning.”

I closed my fist and mouthed a word as I went by on my rounds. 

There was a startled gasp as a foolish tongue was scalded by hot soup. Truly, I was not one for scorpions.

I could have done worse, of course. There were servitors carrying whole tureens of hot soup just waiting for an even larger accident to happen.

But I satisfied myself by having mice piss in their shoes for a week. There was no point in dealing openly with idiots least you became one as well.

Now if I had even a hair from their heads, going bald was the least of their worries. It was old, old magic. Just a little blood, some skin or a discarded tooth . . . that was the basis of ancient magic in many cultures--probably because it was the most effective way to have influence over people. In some places, you could track someone down with a hair made into a charm or even control someone if you had their blood.

Blood magic could be used to do so many other things too. Forbidden things, naturally, but knowledge of these things was not precisely banned. It was proscribed and limited, but if you could get Freyja on the subject, you did not need books to improvise your own curses.

Curses--that was what everyone tended to talk about because we have all said to ourselves at one point, “I wish he or she would just trip and fall like the great big ninny that they are.”

Darker murmurings too, because spite did not stop at wishing for someone to be embarrassed. The poison that lurked in the depths of even the most blameless souls--all hidden away until something brought it up to the surface. 

I tended to take umbrage at rumours when they were poured into the ears of my friends though. Like the time I arranged to meet with Sif in the public baths. I got free of my duties earlier than I expected and decided to relax in the steam room. I received an earful instead of a relaxing time.

If I had to name an obvious vice of mine, it was listening a little too much where I should not and finding out things that I should not.

The high ceiling of the baths amplified sound, a fact that certain people should have taken into account before they started.

From where I sat, I could hear them talking in the outer rooms, probably around the main bathing pool. Like a flock of noisy ravens--only ravens sounded more melodious to my ears and were probably more intelligent.

“Sigyn’s being played for a fool.”

“Or she’s playing Prince Loki for a fool. The girl has a heart made of stone. She might be just buttering him up to learn magic since Freyja’s walled herself up again.”

“It’s obvious that her attentions are on Thor--Sif, you should be more forward if you want to beat her to the--”

Now _that_ was the absolute last straw. I stepped out of the steam room like a vengeful wraith, nude and dripping with sweat and regarded the gathering in the bathing pool with stony eyes.

“You might need this, Ragnfrid Olafsdottir,” I said, throwing a bar of soap at the one who spoke last. She shied away as though I had thrown a venomous spider. “Wash your mouth out twice and it might not smell so bad before passing it around.”

I stood there and glared at them until all except Sif left--some of them had fled hurriedly and it pleased me.

“Sigyn . . .” Sif began hesitantly. “Sigyn, you looked like you were about to drown all of them in the bathing pool.”

“I would have, had I known that you were going to be subjected to all that,” I said as I sluiced myself down before joining Sif in the hot water of the pool. “Do you believe all that twaddle?”

“No, of course not.” Sif relaxed a little more. “You and Loki share similar interests, that’s all. And I know you well and you would never flatter anyone unless it was to take then down a peg or two later . . .”

“ _But_?” I merely voiced the additional word that Sif had not spoken.

“But be careful. You are the sister of my heart and I would not have you hurt.” 

“I am not so easily hurt, Sif. Heart made of stone, remember?” I sank up to my chin in the hot water. “And what about you? Had many adventures with Prince Thor?”

Oh it was good to be able to speak normally with someone about things like silly boys--all right, _young men_ \--who still ran around like children playing at being heroes.

My sisters giggled a lot and asked me about how many eligible men there were in the Palace when I returned to see them. No doubt they planned for their own debut into society soon.

“Does the prince give you presents? They’re supposed to give presents,” Astra said, hugging a complacent Torne to her chest as she lolled around on my hearthside rug. “Appropriate ones for our station, according to Gramma.”

Was slipping someone your tongue considered appropriate for our station? What would they think about a man who borrowed my dress and wore it to slay giants? And what of trespassing on someone else’s hall in the dead of the night and questing for potentially dangerous magic?

Our Gramma would have found _something_ amusing in it, I was sure.

“Mama isn’t going to ask him over for dinner if she doesn’t approve of his gifts,” Ashilde said solemnly.

“Mother doesn’t approve of much,” I told the twins. Least of all the boys I looked at. “And gifts are meaningless if they just want to impress you with some shiny trinket.”

“What are you going to do--ask him to slay a dragon?” Astra looked at me archly. 

“Shh, don’t give her any ideas,” I said. This was not actually a joke because my mother had leave from our father to set horrendous tasks for unsuitable suitors.

“Poor dragon,” Ashilde murmured.

Of my parents, my father wished that I would pursue more lively hobbies and would I spare some time to come home and visit more often? 

My mother was . . . concerned about what I was doing, as usual.

“Sigyn, is this what you really want?” she asked. “Princes are not the easiest of men to befriend and have.”

“Whether I’ll have him or not, is up in the air,” I replied tartly. “I might find him more pleasing than Herryk or Svewn.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said, for those names had brought up past events that we did not like to revisit. Whether she was talking about experimenting with seiðr or what happened between men and women, I had no desire to examine up close.

Regardless of what my parents thought, I was feeling too much heady freedom as my own woman to mind what people said about us and whatever it was we were doing. I was gallivanting with friends, rubbing shoulders with royalty and working on interesting things with a man I would not mind dallying with.

I would have him, I thought to myself, someday soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In contrast to my occasionally venal thoughts, a great many trips with the prince involved combing the markets for books and scrolls. _Vanir_ manuscripts to be exact because it had been clear from the start that Freyja had worked with her native runes. 

Together with the maps and knowledge from several libraries, we had cobbled together an approximation of Freyja’s matrix.

The results were rather daunting. It would require a large input of magical energy. Coordinates had to be supplied--but what kind? How did one command a spell to traverse the pathways between worlds? For the pathways were there--you just had to know how to navigate them.

More trips to the map-sellers and more discussions about where we would go ensued. A safer destination first, of course. We did not know what after-effects the spell would have. And what awaited us on the other side. Being adventurous with magic was all well and good until you dropped yourself into a volcano by accident.

The problem was, if we did not get it right, being dropped into a volcano by accident was the most pleasant ending we could imagine. Getting lost _between_ worlds was the stuff of nightmares. And if the spell was not complete, you could wind up in several dimensions at once, effectively imploding from the strain such a thing would impose on a physical form.

So we poured over maps of Midgard and selected a likely area that was not inhabited by humans. And not near any volcanos, hopefully.

We then prepared for our expedition, gathering some portable foodstuffs and water-bottles to bring along with our weapons. By all accounts, the wild beasts on Midgard were more formidable than the humans who lived there.

In the recent months, we had taken longer trips, going out further afield in our quest for rare herbs or the odd fragment of manuscript. It would not be odd for us to slip out by ourselves. No doubt everyone--with the possible exception of my mother--thought we were fornicating like rabbits, but they did not know how little time and energy I had to entertain that sort of thing. I had been trying to increase my stamina for working magic at the same time we were solving the puzzle of Freyja’s spell.

Seiðr took more than it gave most of the time and my reserves were not on par with Loki’s. A teleportation matrix usually drained me, as we discovered in those early days of experimentation.

The first time I powered a relatively short-range spell, to my great embarrassment, I passed out.

I came to again, blearily-eyed and confused, on the floor of the warded chamber used for spell craft. My head was pillowed on something soft--a folded surcoat.

Moving actually made the room spin.

“You are awake again.” Solicitous hands helped me sit up and pressed a cup of something that smelled like mulled wine to my lips. I could recognise the herbs that fortified it despite the taste and forced it down to clear my head.

“What time is it?” I asked the prince, slightly alarmed by the fact that I might have been missed. And was I slurring my speech as well?

“Barely three hours after you passed out,” he replied. “Any longer and they’ll think I’ve done away with you and buried your body.”

“You may bury my body--I am not long for this world if I do not get up in the morning to attend to my duties.” I did not feel well and my bed was rather far away. And it was so late--or rather too early in the morning.

“The wine will help,” Loki said. “When you are able to walk, I will take you back to your chamber.”

No, it would not do for him to be seen carrying my unconscious body through the hallways. There was too much speculation about what was happening in here already.

It took a while for me to find my feet again. “This is inconvenient to say the least,” I muttered as I tottered forwards.

“Stamina can be built over time.” We were walking arm in arm because he was supporting most of my weight, uncommonly close to the eyes of anyone who might see. But the hour was late and not many servants were about. “You can try again. Later, when you are recovered. Eat more at breakfast--you will need more food than usual.”

Tucked into my bed with a purring Alfdis, I resolved to become stronger before plunging back into sleep again.

It did get better with practice and when Loki moved his workroom to the forest, it was less embarrassing to fall flat on my face or stuff myself with food after an exercise that required the expenditure of raw power.

Within a few months, we were ready to try the bridging matrix with our Midgardian coordinates.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	6. If We Sleep Together

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first step was to get away prying eyes while we conducted this experiment on a day when I was at leisure to go out to the hunting lodge to join the others.

For that, a ruse was necessary. So we announced that we were going on a hunting trip. Just two people. Alone. In the woods. Everyone thought it great sport to tease us about it.

It was obvious what we intended to do as I was in my divided riding skirts with my riding gear on underneath. I carried my weapons along with the provisions and cake I had made. Loki had received many a ribald jib for bringing along his cloak and more than his usual share of wine and mead.

“That cleaning spell of yours does come in handy if you have to clean grass stains off your cloak,” Fandral teased. “Or cake crumbs.”

“But of course--it is a good cloak and I would not want to spoil it.” Loki’s smile was as secretive as usual, so no-one thought much about it.

“I wish I had cake too. Or someone to make me a cake,” Fandral sighed. “Sif, how are you at baking?”

“I’ll bake your head first,” Sif threatened with a mock shake of her weapon.

“Get married then,” Volstagg said with the complacent air of someone who had cake every week and was married to a good cook.

Let us just say that cake was a useful metaphor for a great many things that were implied, some things that actually happened and leave it at that.

I suppose we thought ourselves rather clever. Riding out for a private day to ourselves, playing around in a secluded glade until Heimdall looked away from our dalliance before utilising the spell that would render us unseen.

It was Loki’s spell--the fruit of many years of work and testing. For someone as private as he was and a sorcerer at that, the thought of constant surveillance would not merely chaff. I suppose he might not have been the first to want to evade Heimdall’s eyes, but this was not exactly a legitimate expedition after all.

We found a trysting spot and dallied a little, making for a good show on a summer’s day.

“Are you sure about this?” Loki asked, his breath tickling my cheek. “It’s not going to be easy . . .”

“We’re going to have to try it out eventually.” I drew him in for a kiss before he drew another breath to cloak us with his spell. 

“I am going to have a hard time explaining to your parents if you don’t come back with me.”

“You should just start running,” I advised and pushed him away so that we could begin laying out the transportation matrix. His worry was not without basis though.

It was difficult to describe magic. We only gave it directions with runes. Sometimes a sorcerer could give it a shape and a form. The subtle magic that my mother sometimes used required very little power. There was no need for flashes of light, explosions and bell-like noises to accompany a working. I seldom worked with the spells that required the energy to open the ways between Realms.

Granted, the ways were _already_ there--we just had to get ourselves on the right path. Freyja’s leftover construct showed her mastery and her constant use of the spell--she might be able to change direction midway or turnabout as easily as changing the direction of a horse she was riding. 

Loki wanted to master the ways like that. I could see that desire in him. The desire for freedom that warred with the duties of a prince. Little wonder why he and Thor ventured off on wild adventures. 

Of the two brothers, Loki saw the trap of future responsibilities more clearly. There was little doubt in his mind that if Thor took the throne, Loki would be the one trying to get him to do the actual work that did not involve slaying monsters and waging war. And he would do it too even if what he really wanted to do was to wander the Realms with his brother and get into all sorts of mischief that allowed him to show how clever he was like that affair with the stolen hammer.

You probably did not get to dress your brother up in a wedding dress when you are the advisor to the King. Or go on jaunts to test out magic that end in housebreaking.

I suppose I had that in mind as well as I helped him to set the coordinates we had found. You did not get to go on jaunts to other worlds with the second prince when you are married with children or saddled with a household to run. You would not be looking at the knife-sharp profile of the man next to you, wondering what he would be like in your bed. Or perhaps you would because that happened more often than people would like to think--especially in arranged marriages.

Whatever our reasons, we were ready and we looked at each other briefly for confirmation before stepping inside the matrix we had constructed and activating the spell matrix.

As expected, as I had been warned, it was terrible and unlike most others spell I had cast--the power required for the spell was immense. Knowing and experiencing it, however, were two different things. This working seemed to be leeching everything out of me and stripping the flesh off my bones as the light intensified. I might have screamed at one point--I doubted that I could hear myself anyway.

And then it was over and I was in the rather familiar position of lying flat on my back on the ground. At least I was conscious.

Somewhere around me, birds and insects were chirruping. There were trees around me as well, but I could not move--I just breathed in and out, taking shallow breaths of air. Dazed, I stared up the shadowy canopy for an unknown period of time before I realised that Loki was beside me, urging me to drink from the bottles we had packed. His face was drawn and paler than usual, but he could still move.

We had brought honey mead along just for this sort of thing. It was fortified with herbs to revive sorcerers who had expanded too much energy working with seiðr.

Exchanging bottles of mead and water, we swilled it all down and rested until we could sit up and eat to replenish our resources.

It would become less draining with time. Supposedly. The matrix would no longer be required in its entirety anymore if it was used with increased frequency. The pathways between worlds would be more easily navigated. But how to get used to this?

We devoured the cake I had baked with more crushed nuts and seeds than I would usually add in for the energy that they would supply. Alas, Fandral would have no leftovers.

“So this is . . . Midgard.” I stared up at the foreign foliage. The forest smelt . . . damp and ripe with life. If the colour green could have a smell, it would smell like this.

“It’s not Jötunheim or Muspelheim, so we must have got something right,” Loki said, mopping at his brow. It was too warm to be Jötunheim and not hot enough to be the land of the Fire Giants--in fact, it was rather humid. It also might be a little further from Midgardian civilisation than we had intended. The undergrowth showed no signs of the knife or plough.

Heartened by our success at not disintegrating in transit and feeling slightly more like ourselves, we staggered upright and began exploring. There were small lizards that scampered along tree trunks and brightly coloured birds that perched high above our heads. They were all more colourful than the ones back in Asgard.

A breeze brought the scent of salt to us and we followed it to where the trees thinned out and a sandy strip of beach lay before us. No human ships lay just off the shallows and we realised that this was an uninhabited place.

We walked along the shore in the balmy air, savouring the scent of an alien world for the first time. Within the hour, we found a lagoon where the waters were clear and the waves gentle.

“It looks wonderful--good enough for a swim.” Planting my spear into the ground, I took off my boots and revelled in the cool air. My riding skirts and underclothes soon followed and I looked back at Loki to see if he agreed.

He was just a little amused as he picked up my skirt and hung it on a low branch of a tree that grew in the sandy soil at the boundary of land and beach. “You’ll spoil your clothes.”

“They’ll just think that things got messy--messier than usual,” I said. But I tossed my long tunic over the branch as well before wading out into the shallows in just my skin and my knife sheath.

The water was not very cold at all and it was marvellously clear. There were corals, shellfish and other colourful sea creatures that called this lagoon home.

I marvelled at them, trying to see what was familiar and what was completely new while there was still light enough to see by.

“It’s a different world and a different climate--hence the different species,” Loki said when he finally joined me at the edge of the coral reef--he might have taken the time to fold his clothes. The water was barely waist-deep here and shallow enough to stand in at this time of the evening.

“But there are shellfish that are similar, for all that the waters here are warmer.” Midgard was said to be more like Asgard than the other Realms.

He shaded his eyes and looked up at the sky to gauge the angle of the sun’s rays. “We appear to be in what they call a tropical region. The weather here is as warm as Asgard in high summer.”

“Reason enough for a swim,” I said, indicating the wide expanse of the lagoon. The sun was setting soon, but I suspected that the waters would not cool so quickly.

“What is that?” Loki had noticed something when I moved and crouched down a little to view the rune mark on my skin.

“I have a charm against pregnancy,” I said, willing myself not to hold my arm across my belly under that sharp scrutiny. The rune was there on my abdomen, visible to those who were skilled in the craft.

“Did you do it yourself?” he asked, tracing the invisible lines with a long finger. “It is a fine working.”

“My mother’s working actually, but I know how it is done.”

“Why?” 

“Why? Because I had done it with a boy when I was younger and experimenting,” I said as though it explained everything. As he was a prince, surely his mother or father would have explained _some_ things to him? “Both my mother and I did not wish for a child out of wedlock.”

Our lifespans were many times that of the Midgardians, so one did not expect many of us to be untouched after a few centuries. Children were not so easily conceived, but accidents did happen every once in a while--I swore I would not have such an accident. 

My mother had not been wrong when she said I had not been courted in earnest. The first time had been the exploration of something new in my fifth century . . . With Herryk Isolfson, a childhood friend by virtue of the fact that his father and my father campaigned together in the past. In all honesty, I was the instigator of that affair.

Knowing little of the things between men and women back then, I had thought it a great lark to tease him until he pleaded with me to allow him to have his way with me. I suppose I was drunk on my own power at that time, for I gave in to his blandishments despite not feeling much for him at all. 

I know now that blandishments were the preludes to greater liberties now.

I found that I liked Herryk even less after that, for he assumed that he had some claim over me for having taken my maidenhood. I had to turn him away quite frequently until he got the message. My mother had been rather put out by my impulsiveness.

_You did not even like the boy, Sigyn._

A few years later, I made sure that Svewn Geirson knew that I allowed him the privilege of fumbling around in my skirts and he should be a gentlemen about it. Meaning that he did not have to mention my name on his list of conquests least I cursed him with impotence.

I did not know how to do that back then, but Svewn did not have to know about it. But I had fought to glean that knowledge from Freyja and I knew how to silence inconvenient lovers now. Not that I had many regular ones once word got around. 

Svewn did not interest me at all. Nor did making a list of conquests. I had discovered that the momentary relief obtained from scratching an itch was barely even worth the aggravation. Which was why I had kept my distance and sent a great many boys packing.

And now . . . well _now_ , I was explaining the rune mark on my skin to an equally naked prince while standing hip-deep in the ocean of another world.

“Your mother is wise. And no amateur at rune magic.” His fingers lingered on my skin even as his eyes sought mine, green flecked with gold in the Midgardian sunlight.

“Yes.” And she did not approve of Prince Loki, but I kissed him anyway, twining my arms around his shoulders even as his hands moved to encircle my waist.

Alas, I was prone to kissing boys my mother did not approve of.

The tinge of salt flavoured this kiss and the next one. I felt my nipples hardening against his chest as desire sparked within me. At least this one was interesting in his own way.

Breaking out of our embrace, I dove into the waves and swam out further, forcing him to catch up.

We played and raced each other in the lagoon as the sun set and coloured everything gold and orange for a while before the night asserted itself. But of course, the point was to end up skin to skin after I had gone underwater to try to sneak up behind him. He let me pounce on him and cling onto his shoulders, salt water dripping off our hair and our damp limbs.

“Are you pretending to be a water sprite?” he asked as he turned to face me, ghost-pale in the evening’s gloom with his dark hair slicked back around his head like a cap.

“The humans have many names for them--none of them are Sigyn, I’m afraid,” I laughed. “But I have not been known to drown people--yet.”

“Those are sirens, according to the local legends,” Loki said, holding me loosely by the waist as I floated about half a foot off the seabed. “They seduce sailors to their doom on the rocks by singing.”

“I cannot even impress my cats with my singing--so you will have to be content with just seducing.” I pressed closer. “Is it working yet?”

His hand traced its way up my thigh--it was cool from all that immersion. “You are still wearing your knife though.”

“I need it to protect us from sharks,” I said, not actually knowing if there were such fish in these waters. But I could feel that he was ready because that was definitely not an interested fish bumping against my thigh.

“I feel safer already.”

And he let me guide him until his cock was sheathed within me. Some part of him was safe from ravenous sea creatures, at least.

I had not done this in water before, but half-floating as we were, we let the motion of the waves rock us slowly at first. As our pleasure built, he arched up within the cradle of my thighs and began thrusting in earnest, his hands anchoring me against him.

The feeling of him moving inside me and the friction between us--it was all I knew for a while. I let the sound of the waves lapping along the shore lull me as I first drifted then, sped towards that state of mindlessness in which I cried out wordlessly, muscles tightening and clenching even as I squeezed my eyes shut and clawed at his back.

When I opened my eyes again, I could see the unfamiliar stars in the clear skies above us along with the sliver crescent that was this world’s moon. Loki’s face was buried in my neck as he stiffened and spent himself within me.

Cocooned in the darkness, we floated in silence until we let go of each other and the ocean had its tribute by washing us clean.

My knife came in handy when we liberated some of the local shellfish from the rocks that lined the lagoon. The oysters we split open and ate raw while the mussels and clams cooked in the middle of the fire we had made.

Ravenous after our lovemaking and our energy-draining working, we ate heartily and finished our provisions, mother-naked and unconcerned about the creatures that might see us trespassing on their lagoon.

We dried out eventually and put on our tunics somewhat reluctantly. It was as warm as a summer night could be back at home. Lingering on the beach, I let him attempt to rebraid my hair while I sat on his cloak and he on our pack of provisions.

 _Attempt_ was a very apt word for what happened next.

“Perhaps I should make some combs out of the shells of our dinner,” Loki mused as he tried to make sense of the tangle that was now my hair. I was leaning against his leg, drowsy and well content to let him have at it. “They’d be a nice souvenir.”

“You already owe me a dress,” I said, reminding him of the one that had been ruined. 

“Would you like another one made of moth-wings and moonlight?”

“If I walked through Asgard in a dress made of illusions to return to my father’s house, you would be the only one to know, wouldn’t you?”

He laughed and tugged at my hair again. “I think I can muster up a spell for this.”

A single hand gesture and my hair fell down in smooth waves as though I had washed and dried it for a special occasion.

“Show-off.”

That only served to encourage him and he turned the mussel and oyster shells into a whole set of hairpins and combs. Transformation with objects of a fixed size was easier, but still cost him in terms of energy. Loki did like to show off, I realised. To the right audience, he would be a magician on stage, mumming for their applause. He would be a terrible actor though--far too aware of the audience to pass himself off as whatever he aspired to be.

“Are you a prince or are you a hair-dresser?” I teased as he used the combs to pull my hair back before weaving the lot into two braids.

“I could be both. Though not many ladies would let me near their hair,” he said lightly as he wrapped the braids around my head and secured them with the long hairpins.

I stilled as he brought up his former prank on Sif. “Can you blame them?”

His breath ghosted over my ear as he spoke. “I promise not to change your hair colour--cross my heart and hope to dye.”

“You are the god of horrible puns, not mischief. Though I doubt it was mischief that spurred you on that day.”

Behind me, Loki stilled. “And what, pray, is your theory?”

“It was around the time Sif met your brother in the sparring ring, wasn’t it?” I was treading on dangerous ground, but my mother never said I was wise.

“Correct.” He moved again and I was conscious of how close he was and that I had my back to him. “But it was inevitable, wasn’t it? If not your Sif, then some other girl would have come by. Some other girl who was not just a convenient bed-warmer.”

“She’s not _my_ Sif.”

His laughter was not pleasant and I felt his spiked malice behind me like those sea urchins in the reef. “I thought you didn’t care about what people said about you and her.”

“I do not, but I care about Sif. And you are not prudent to speak of that when you are within reach of my arm and my elbow.”

“Truce again, Sigyn--I have to remember that you tend to retaliate viciously when pressed,” he said ruefully before lowering his voice and whispering into my ear. “But then so do I.” 

I was not particularly gentle when I turned abruptly and pulled him in for a bruising kiss. There was a roughness to it that had not been there before. We tumbled back onto his cloak with him on top of me.

“That’s enough,” he said in warning when he broke away and braced himself on his arms. He was breathing hard now and that was not the only thing that was hard. “You are testing my patience.”

Throwing caution to the wind, I smiled up at him with laughter on my lips and hiked up my tunic. “I never had much patience.”

We made a mess of his cloak in the approved of and expected fashion. But not before he had his tongue on me, _in_ me, delving past my labia and finding wicked ways to make me lose control of my voice. Not before I rolled us both over and rode him to completion--his and mine.

It was a good thing that we did not bruise easily. For it would be a chore to explain away the split lips, the bruises on our necks and the scratches I left on his back. We would have looked as though we had tumbled off a mountain and then some rather than a sedate romp in a glade.

But Loki had recovered enough of his magic to clean his cloak and we made ourselves more or less presentable for the journey back. I let him at my hair again but we did not get distracted this time around.

“You know what this means, do you not?” he asked as we sketched out the transport matrix in the sand. “We have bridged the worlds through other paths, costly though it was.”

“Without really aiming properly, I might add. It was lucky that we landed up in an uninhabited place rather than right in the middle of a human city.” I was still feeling the drain on my power and knew that I would be well and truly exhausted by the time we reached Asgard.

“Refinements can be made. But it will take time . . .”

I could see that he wanted to tell Odin one day. Tell him so that his father would be proud of his achievements and that Asgard would see merit in his ideas. But he did not know if Odin would approve, for he had received many a parental earful about his pranks. 

To be fair, Thor had received just as many for his brash adventures. Knowing that Loki could traverse the Realms without the Bifrost might give Thor ideas as well. And I did consider the possibility that Loki might try to impress his brother with this new trick if he was feeling particularly competitive.

“Let’s keep it a secret--just between us for now,” I said to temporarily relieve him of the choice. “We don’t know for sure if this spell will work for all the Realms.”

“All right.”

“Swear it on the Tree?” I offered my hand and my knife to him. 

“Swear it on the Tree,” he agreed, pleased to have a co-conspirator.

We made a pact under the alien stars before returning home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outwardly, we were the same. But if anyone saw us exchanging secretive looks, they would think that we were playing at courting. And it suited us fine most of the time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	7. Best Laid Plans

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I like to think that it was the best part of my youth. Those heady days of freedom and adventures. Good times, in other words.

It helped that we were . . . discreet, for the want of a better word. Neither of us relished people outside our immediate circle of friends and family knowing about our comings and goings. We took extra pains to hide the illicit journeys to other worlds from our friends and families, taking pleasure in refining magic and generally sneaking around for the thrill of it.

If you could be invisible--and I know a lot of people have wished it--you would have taken the opportunity to do as much as you could without getting caught. I suppose it was what kept me from mouldering away or getting bored with being stationed up at the Palace.

Loki was not a particularly demanding paramour and I did not go with him and his brother on their madcap adventures. If not for the fact that he was the second prince and the unavoidable number of eyes up in the royal court, our dalliance would hardly have been noticed by anyone.

How long could we keep it up? Preferably decades--centuries even. Or until we wearied of each other. Whenever that would be.

Only my mother looked at me in askance. “Where is this going, Sigyn?” she asked when I was at home one day and we were involved in the onerous task of polishing and tallying the silverware.

“As far as it can go, Mother,” was my only reply. In truth, I did not know.

Her lips thinned. “I always knew that if you fell, you’d fall _hard_ , my girl. Probably for someone I don’t particularly care for or someone unattainable. And I was worried that it would be a _married_ man.”

 _Or Sif._ That always tended to remain unspoken. 

I was much too old to flounce out in a huff, so I remained silent and continued polishing.

But my mother was right, as she usually was. It was all well and good to be the companion of princes while you were young. Even a lover of a prince. But how long could it continue?

I had to take steps. Slow ones at first. So I talked to more people--both men and women--and used my vantage in the Palace while I was still serving as a handmaiden to cast my nets out. I let it be known that I was open to the idea of suitors.

A certain _type_ of suitor.

I suppose I sold it a little too well. Or was a little too prolific. I managed to find at least three who might fit the criteria well ahead to time.

Not the brawny warrior-type. Not the third, fourth or fifth sons desperately trying to eke out a reputation for themselves. Not someone violently opposed to having a _seiðkonur_ for a wife. There were actually a few first and second sons who were open to such suggestions.

I found myself in constant conversation with such a one--Kotkel Kolson, the son of a lordling who had travelled from his father’s estates to the city in order to seek out fellow sorcerers. I had met him in Freyja’s hall, chasing ever elusive knowledge and even more elusive Freyja. Not that way, of course.

Knowledge acquisition and petitioning of Freyja temporarily put on hold, he had paid his respects at court and had asked me to show him around. Magicians always felt more at home around people who did not mind the eccentricities that accompanied them.

There were sorcerers far more eccentric than long-nosed, brown-haired and rusty-robed Kotkel. Not as provincial as his garb and accent proclaimed, he had endeavoured to pump myself and a few others for the lay of the land as it were.

I thought him more suitable than Lamond or Eistein. But I kept an open mind at the various feasts and entertainments. The Queen allowed a generous table for noble visitors and under her eye, courtiers courted each other with her blessing. I was not adverse to enjoying some of the pleasures afforded to my set. Even if it was mainly standing along the wall and making snide comments about so-and-so with whomever I was standing with.

A whisper in my ear--just a breath of air and a familiar voice interrupted one such evening. “A moment of your time . . .” 

Slipping out was not difficult for I was already at the edge of this gathering. I had done this before--just another way of sneaking out of crowded gatherings.

We stole out to the terrace outside with its flanking colonnades. 

“I didn’t not know you had returned,” I said, swinging around to face him. In truth, I usually watched for Thor’s arrival. Where Thor made a grand entrance, Loki would slip in with the shadows.

“We have returned. But my brother would rather regale the tavern-goers with his adventures than the court. I cannot, in truth, blame him,” Loki admitted.

“They aren’t in the mood for tales of giant-slaying anyway,” I told him as I leaned in closer. “And neither am I.”

“That was quite a welcome,” Loki said when I let us both back up for air. “I should go away for weeks more often.”

“If you get killed on some damnfool adventure, I’m not mourning you.”

“Hard words, woman. It’s a good thing I remembered to go shopping at that last bazaar.” Loki spread his hands and made a square of velvet appear between them. “I thought I should get you this.”

 _This_ was a shining length of gold and pearls, drawn from the inky blackness of its velvet pouch.

“It’s a present,” he added, unnecessarily.

I froze then. I doubt I handled things well after that point.

“What’s this for?” I asked, trying to cover my lapse. The shiny trinket had arrived, velvet bag and all. A gift that was too obvious and too much.

“I’ve been speaking to Thor about certain things and while he is not that bright, he does tend to speak the truth.” This came out in a rush for he had anticipated my look of disbelief.

I rolled my eyes for good measure. “I am waiting for pigs to fly now because you’re going to tell me that you actually _listened_ to him.”

Too late, I recalled that Freyja's boar could probably fly.

“But perhaps I have not been making my intentions clear,” Loki continued. “My brother said that we were behaving as though it was a casual dalliance and it was natural that you would drift away with time or be courted by others.”

I doubted that many people wanted to court me for myself. Not without the backing of my father’s family and estate, the prestige offered by my mother’s lineage and the promise of my magic to advance their own cause. Loki was right about Thor telling the truth though. I wondered how many serious relationships he had attempted in the past.

“This is a little sudden . . .” I had to press the bag back into his hands then. But I kissed him again before pulling away. “Come find me later at my father’s house and I will explain so long as you will listen.”

We went our separate ways then. I tried not to remember the shifting play of emotions over his face, but I could barely concentrate on a conversation after that--I had to excuse myself, pleading a headache.

I had a few days to myself. Which meant that I spent my nights at my father’s house. That usually meant precious little space for private meetings, but I usually lingered in the stables when I returned, checking on the horses and hounds.

It was there that he found me, combing out Gallen the wolfhound’s coat that night. He did not bother with magic tricks, a fact I was glad for as I got up and brushed off my skirts.

“It’s a pretty thing, but too rich for me. I thought it was a casual dalliance,” I began. “I didn’t expect you to start giving me gifts or reciting poetry at me, much less make a public announcement about it.”

The expression on his face made me wince inside. His eyes had that suspicious gloss to them that made it look as though he was about to cry. “I don’t need you to court me in earnest. It’s enough that we have time together. I’ve never wanted to spend time with a lover outside my bed before,” I tried to explain again.

“Then why won’t you let me court you in earnest? I will not forbid you to dally with others. I do not ask for much--merely a chance.”

Sometimes I wondered if he realised just how different it was for him, a prince, and me, a girl--a woman of middling prospects and little advantage.

“A chance at what?” I asked. “You can’t ask me to marry you in the end.”

“Why not?” Rash words, rasher thoughts.

“Let’s be practical--” I began, trying to salvage whatever I could.

“Let’s not.”

“You said you’d listen.”

“I am listening,” he said after a long pause.

“You’re a prince--princes marry for political reasons. Your father already has my father’s loyalty. There is no reason for you to pay court to me in earnest.”

Loki threw his hands up in exasperation. “By that reasoning, I should not pay court to any lady and wait dumbly for my arranged marriage like a sheep to the slaughter then.”

“Yes--probably to some Elven Princess from Álfheim. Or a Fire Giant if an alliance of is forthcoming.”

“Where did all these princesses spring up from?” Loki wondered before looking at me soberly. “Why are you so hard-headed and practical?”

“Because I am. Eventually, there will be someone tolerable enough for me to marry and no doubt tolerate me in turn. Someone who could turn a blind eye to us.”

“You don’t have to.” I suppose he thought he was being reasonable.

“Who would I be then? Your not-so-secret mistress after you wed another?” This was getting out of hand.

My mother’s fear for me was not irrational. If the princes had to marry politically, I might not even be tolerated as a mistress if his bride was particular about such arrangements. And even if Frigga allowed such a thing under her roof, I would grow to resent it. Resent it for my lack of position, the respect that should have been mine. And it would end with me resenting him in the end. 

Or like this, with one of us wallowing in insecurity and the other wanting none of this drama.

So I thought I would cast out the canker in my heart before it could take root. I had played at courtship and had a fling. With a prince, no less. I could leave this behind me as a fond memory--a fitting souvenir of youthful indulgence.

As usual, it was not going to easy.

“I have to do what I have to do. Maybe I’ll join the Valkyries and give up on men altogether. Would it please you to have been my last?”

“It pleases me not,” he said coldly. “And Valkyries are hardly _celibate_! I am not betrothed to anyone and you are making up fanciful--”

“Fairy tales,” I finished. “That’s when the prince marries a princess he has fallen in love with. Or she might be the lowest pot-scrubber in the kitchen, but it matters not because it is a fairy tale. Will you tell me a fairy tale, Liesmith? Because you did not discount the probability of an arranged marriage earlier.”

“Do not twist my words, Sigyn,” Loki said, but he could not refute it now. “I know I am no prize, but at least grant me the freedom to have my heart broken.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I was your lover--one of your lovers. Look back at this time fondly and know that--” 

I never got to finish for he stormed out of the stable. Having no door to slam, his passage was only marked by the horses and hounds. 

“Damnation,” I muttered under my breath before taking my frustration out on Gallen’s coat. If I shed a tear or two, the hounds made short work of it. 

This was not what I had intended to do. My father always said that the best-laid plans never survived contact with the battlefield. Even in this, he was correct and I had a right mess on my doorstep along with an aching head.

I suppose it fell to me to fix it, but I was loath to shift myself and shake off the foul mood that was my due.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the first prince who sought me out when I returned to the Palace the next day. Thor found me alone, for I was cross, irritable and taking it out on my noon meal.

If he saw the warning signs in my mangled food, he ignored them as he sat down next to me.

“Lady Sigyn, excuse my intrusion, but my brother has been brooding of late and just last night, he stormed past my chamber, muttering something about intractable women. I wanted to ask what troubled him, but he vanished shortly after. As he is wont to do when he is frustrated or upset.”

“And you are worried for him?” Yes, for all his carousing and brash adventuring, Thor loved his brother and was not as brainless as he appeared.

“Very much so. Loki . . . Loki doesn’t take set-backs well.” Thor looked solemn as a schoolboy reciting a lesson as he spoke to me. “And he is rather a stranger to the repeated cycles of courting.”

“Not anymore,” I said into my wine goblet.

“It’s never ended so tempestuously,” Thor elaborated. I had not taken him for one to pay so much attention to his brother’s doings, but I had been wrong before. “I believe that the others experienced more cordial partings.”

“I was avoiding the tempestuousness,” I continued, staring at my mutton as though it contained a venomous serpent. This talk of his past lovers was making my stomach clench. “Your brother has a way of making everything so dramatic and overblown. I wanted to be with him for as long as I could--until we tired of each other in time.”

“But he does not?” Thor asked. “Loki has few wants, so his desires are very focused.”

The first prince did not know his brother that well after all. What Thor said was _mostly_ true, but Loki had few wants because he largely did not know what he really wanted beside parental and brotherly acclaim. And he was so confused about how to attain them too. 

But we did not make it easy for him, that much I could admit. Thor was . . . _Thor ___and Odin was, as most fathers were, aloof and scant with praise to tearaway sons. The All-Father might have to be even more objective because he was a king and the only one who could bring his scapegrace sons to heel.

And I was far too practical to give my heart away without a fight.

“And what of my desires?” But I was made of stone, was I not? “What if I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as his occasional partner for a working and sometimes bed-mate?”

Thor looked at me for a long moment before patting my hand. “For what it’s worth, Lady, I would stand for my brother if he wished to seek happiness with you and you with him.”

How easily princes say these things. I managed to mutter the correct and polite response to that and excused myself from the dining hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sif was the next to seek me out that day for what Thor knew, she would soon know as well. Or perhaps she had seen my face and deduced that something was wrong at once.

“Sigyn, it’s not like you to give up so easily--even if it is Loki,” Sif said, concern radiating from her when she finally caught up with me. “And while I am not fond of his pranks, I will keep a civil tongue in my head around him and introduce my lance to whoever disparages the two of you.”

It was touching, really. But I had already thought this through. For far too long.

“Sif, dearest, spears cannot wound this heart of mine. For I have decided not to play at courting with Prince Loki and hope just to be a friend.” And I told her why.

“But . . . don’t you _like_ him?” she asked after that. The word _love_ would not emerge from between her teeth so easily.

“What I like or dislike does not matter. The fact is, he is a prince. Princes do not court lightly,” I stated calmly. “This Realm’s needs will swallow them whole in the end.”

I suppose I was warning her. But it was for myself as well. I really should have done something about it earlier.

We went out when I was off duty and decided to get royally drunk because it was not the sole province of men to drown their sorrows.

In fact, there were certain mead halls that catered to women who did not fancy getting beer spilled all over themselves when the men got drunk. We sought out one such place where beer was not the only thing on offer and drunken singing was forbidden on the pain of a lot more pain. As it was co-owned by a Valkyrie and a former shield-maiden of some note, this threat was taken very seriously. Men were only allowed in if they had a woman to vouch for them and there was to be no quaffing.

It was a place for serious drinking and serious grousing. Sif and I walked in on an intense discussion on the merits of chariot-racing. Complaining about the men folk was all very well, but it got repetitive after a while. 

Chariots used to be in vogue a thousand years ago--although we might have been a bit slow to pick up on it for they had been around on Midgard for over a thousand years prior to that--and they looked to be making a return for a particularly vocal group of Valkyries were pushing for a chariot-race to be held. Some of them sounded rather disgruntled over the large number of all-male sporting events held every year. 

It had been a lot better in the past, as the older women always said--the long periods of peace had encouraged more women to hang up their shields and take up the flat-irons. 

“An all-women’s chariot race too,” Sif said excitedly as she returned with another round of drinks. It was certainly a lot better than thinking about thoughtless princes.

“I can see it now--Freyja with her herd of cats harnessed to her chariot, overtaking everyone,” I muttered, looking over the wine glasses for something a little stronger. It took a lot of alcohol to get an Asgardian drunk--around three times of what would floor the strongest Midgardian.

“It takes some skill to drive a chariot drawn by cats,” Sif said, still turning over the idea in her head as she sampled another vintage. “And there’s the matter of getting the right chariot . . .”

“I’m sure there are enough old chariots to convert.” My aunt had taken us on her chariot to the battlefields while the Valkyries were at work a few centuries back--not everyone’s idea of a nice vacation but Sif and I had liked it well enough. We also did not suffer from motion-sickness while aboard the rattling contraption.

“If such a race happens, will you drive my chariot?” Sif asked hopefully.

I agreed before I could even think properly. After a few rounds, it could be said that I was not actually thinking properly, but at that point I only though what fun it would be--uncomplicated fun. Guaranteed to drive off anyone looking for a lady-like and quiet little woman.

“With spikes on the wheels?”

“With spikes on the wheels, of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	8. Deeper and Deeper

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke to the sound of shrill screams ringing through my somewhat foggy head. I vaguely recalled something about spiked wheels on chariots and there was the aftertaste of something awful in my mouth.

As many before me had learned retrospectively, drinking to excess was a terrible thing. 

It took me a moment to recognise the screams for what they were before fumbling my way out of the sheets and reaching for my spear on the weapons rack. By the light coming through my window, I knew it was mid-morning already--I had been allowed to sleep in. That _never_ boded well.

That turned out to be all too true when I set my feet on the floor and yelled in alarm when the floor moved under my feet.

The thin green snake I almost stepped on looked back up at me with beady eyes and wiggled under the bedframe.

Before I could even react, the door to my bedchamber burst open.

“ _Sigyn_.” My mother stood in the doorway, a dead snake in one hand and the poker in the other. Hazy memories of the previous night emerged and I recalled her shoving a foul herbal concoction down my throat after I had returned, probably too pickled to walk straight. The look on her face told me everything I did not want to know.

I swore. Loudly. 

Kicking my blankets over the floor, I snatched up my spear and started beating anything that moved with the haft. Dressing in haste while standing on a chair was something I had never done before and did not want to do again. My mother helped me with the laces and practically threw my riding boots and a water flask at me. I had just enough time to braid my hair loosely and run for it before more wriggling shapes emerged from under the bed.

Outside my room, snakes of many colours wound their way along the hallway, herded along by the brooms of the maids and the twins, who were wielding rakes and squealing every now and then whenever a snake tried to wriggle through their cordon.

“Sigyn!” they yelled at me in unison when I emerged.

“I know! Check under the beds!” I called to them as I pelted past, swigging water along the way to wash the taste from my mouth and rehydrate. I finally made it out to the stables, hopping and leaping over the long sinuous bodies in the way. 

“Sigyn!” my father bellowed. He was helping the grooms and Tait the stable-boy with getting the horses out of their stalls.

“I’m going!” I hollered as I grabbed my saddle. I had to bring Bera outside to saddle her, eyes rolling with alarm at the unwelcome visitors on the ground.

Bera needed no urging to run. The streets outside were similarly plagued with a multitude of snakes. Large ones, thin ones, mottled ones, colourfully banded ones and drab ones--points for creativity perhaps, but the residents of Asgard did not appear to be impressed.

Half-way to the Palace, I was met by Thor, Sif and the other three. Also mounted, they appeared to be going in the other direction.

“Lady Sigyn!” Thor hailed me, a trifle breathlessly as he reined his horse in. Sif waved at me in a wane fashion but she looked mostly recovered from last night--perhaps her mother had forced a herbal draught down her throat for indulging in alcohol as well.

“ _I know!_ ” I said in exasperation. “Where is he?”

“Not within the Palace. His horse is gone from the stables though,” Thor supplied helpfully. And that was why they were heading this way . . .

I swore again and turned Bera around. We nudged our horses into a gallop and rode out of the main city towards the forested preserve. The scenery was all very pretty at this time of the day, but we were going too fast to appreciate nature or avoid startling birds and wildlife with the noise of our passage. Riding with hangover would have been much worse--I had to remember to thank my mother later. Once she finished lecturing me, of course.

At the princes’ favoured hunting lodge, we spit up to search. Carefully, of course. An irate sorcerer and a prankster was not one to approach lightly. He was not in the stone-walled outbuilding that served as a workroom though. There were signs of a recent working--clear as day to any mage or witch.

“I think I know where he is,” I muttered to the others. “Don’t follow unless there’s an explosion.”

Thor and his comrades melted away into the forests again, content to let me approach a potentially annoyed and tired sorcerer.

I made my way into the lodge, just a little nervous because this was someone who was fond of leaving tricks, traps and the odd magic spell in the way to bamboozle pursuers. I paused before the door to the kitchen and decided that this was enough sulking about. Trepidation be damned, if there was a bucket of something above the door, then so be it.

Booting the door open, I waited for something to happen. When nothing fell or exploded, I dashed forward and pushed open the door that led to the adjoining room.

“That was childish and you’ve got the entire city in an uproar. As usual,” I said, a trifle breathlessly to the culprit in the pantry for I had my first words all planned whatever my entrance would be.

“It worked then.” Cup in hand, Loki was in the middle of a late lunch. Still impeccably groomed, only the faintest trace of dark circles around his eyes bespoke of a late night. A few empty wine bottles were present on the table, which made me suspect he had been semi-drunk in the middle of the spell.

The demands of magic generally meant that sorcerers had a higher than average metabolism. A working like the one that had disrupted an entire city would require a fair bit of energy. Which was why the most likely place to find a sorcerer after a spell casting was in the kitchen or pantry.

“It scared most people and the livestock too.” I paused to straighten out my riding leathers and shoved my straggling hair out of my eyes--no-one looked neat or dignified after a ride like that.

“It won’t last. In fact, it should have faded away by now,” Loki said with a glance at the sky. “It wasn’t a very strong working.”

I cast an eye over the bottles. “Or you were more than just slightly drunk when you were playing around with the constructs again.”

“Guilty twice over.” He waved at the cold meats and cheese on the table. “It’s not much, but do you want lunch?”

“Give me some of that--I haven’t had my breakfast because _someone_ decided to experiment,” I told him before appropriating the loaf of bread and sitting down--he had invited me after all. “ _Snakes_. Of all things.”

“Non-venomous,” he said, moving with the careful air of someone nursing a massive hangover to pour another cup of water. Not mead--not while still suffering the aftereffects of wine. It was fortunate for him that we mended quickly--such a hangover would have floored a mortal.

“Wriggly things that made the maids squeal and spooked the horses.” I helped myself to cheese and ham. “Unnecessary use of magic.”

“What’s the use of having all this magic when you can’t even get someone to accept a necklace?”

In the silence that followed, I regarded my makeshift meal intently before focusing on the figure lounging opposite me.

“Did you expect me to wear it to declare your claim?” I asked. “I’ll take that from no man and not just your royal princeship.”

“Bor’s balls--you’re prickly for a woman with at least four men on her string!” Loki exclaimed.

Ah, he had been keeping count after all . . .

“I haven’t slept with them yet, so you can stop that train of thought right there,” I said irritably, drawing a cup towards me and deciding that it was usable. “Not that it is any of your concern.”

“How is it that I don’t get to be jealous of some long-nosed sorcerer nosing around your skirts? Or that foppish administrator?”

“Kotkel Kolson would prefer you in his bed than me. Which is exactly why we suit each other,” I informed him after swallowing a mouthful of bread and ham. “We get to marry respectably while agreeing to let each other do as we please.”

Loki raised his fine brows in disbelief. “And you are all right with that?”

“I’m going to have my own life someday. Not one dictated by the fact that you’re a prince and the reality that not many men want wives who might continue to be a lover of said prince!” I almost banged the cup on the table but remembered my manners. Do not break your host’s tableware. 

“Those who would marry me for a way of weaselling into higher circles through our liaison are just panderers. Men like Kotkel have clearer aims and would prefer marriage to a fellow sorcerer anyway.”

The other way was through love--for my parents loved each other enough for my mother’s magic to be a minor issue. That was a little difficult to manage at the moment . . .

“You’re telling me you’re trying to protect us?” Of course, Loki would never see it that way.

“I am doing it because I want to have some control.” I certainly did not see him making the same choices that I would. “If we could continue as we had, I would have. I would marry someone eventually, make a respectable go at having a family and if we were still together, we would just have to be more discreet--”

“Were you going to tell me this one day?” he asked with a look that cut me to the quick.

“I would have . . . eventually,” I muttered. “I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. Engagements might take centuries--”

“So perhaps in a few centuries? Just before your wedding to whoever it is?”

I made myself look him in the eye--he had some right to be angry, I admitted. _Just a little only_. “I’m not answerable to you. Like I said, we made no promises. We never said that we were . . . not open to other arrangements. And I had to look after my own interests because you wouldn’t think of it that way.”

“Of course I wouldn’t think of it that way,” he said, slumping slightly in his chair. “You never said anything. I thought you were happy--”

“I am--I was,” I injected. “I just wanted to keep it that way. And still have a mantle of respectability to wear in my dotage.”

“And I was under the impression that you didn’t care about what people thought,” Loki mused.

“You get to ignore what other people think when you are ancient and respectable enough to be called eccentric,” I said, thinking of my grandmother. “You get to fart in front of everyone without giving a damn when you are old, comfortably well-off and people think you’re a little daft.”

That got a laugh out of him. “That’s more like you. Not giving a fart about farting in mixed company.”

“It’s easier when you’re a prince. No-one but your father is going to spank you for this morning’s little spell,” I pointed out.

“True. Have you come to find me before I get dragged back?” Loki did not look particularly chastised. Then again, he seldom thought about the far-reaching effects of his pranks. He would never remember who had been offended and who took offense in another’s place.

“No. I came to give you a piece of my mind.” I had taken half his lunch instead. “You can go back and face the music by yourself. I’ve got enough on my plate when I get back.”

“Whatever have you done now, oh paragon of womanly virtues?” He had settled into a listening pose, chin in hand and mouth quirked in amusement.

“Got stinking drunk last night, promised to drive Sif’s chariot in a potential race run by disgruntled Valkyries, went haring off in search of you this morning when my mother had a whole day of chores planned,” I replied. “It’s going to be double when I get back.”

“Such small sins. Odin used to make Thor and myself muck out the stables for weeks when we erred.”

Of course, by that, he meant that he and his brother had upset a few feasts, played truant from major events and offended all sorts of important people from different Realms--my sins looked small in comparison.

“Such is the lot of princes,” I said drily and got up from the table. “Well, I’ve said my piece--thank you for lunch, I should be going now.”

“What if I don’t want you to go so soon?”

“Now who’s the one giving all the mixed signals?” Changeable as the wind, this trickster prince--no wonder people thought he was eccentric and unpredictable. Then again, I was not in the mood to star in a hundred year long lovers’ tiff.

“I suppose I don’t have to give you strings of gold and pearls,” he started to say.

“No, because you’ve realised that upsetting a whole city is a much more effective way of getting my attention,” I injected.

Loki shrugged. “If the shoe fits . . . and if you’re willing to put up with not getting presents--”

“Or flowers. Or anything showy.” I forbore to mention the fact that I would usually take something if I fancied it. 

“Remarkable--not much effort required at all. I should be looking for a catch, shouldn’t I?” He reached over to smooth my tangled hair and I almost arched into that touch--he had been away for a while, the thoughtless boy. 

The tension between us had mostly dissolved by then, but I was not going to be so easily deterred.

“Oh no, you’re not going to delay me,” I laughed, moving my head out of the way. “My mother will have words if I tarried here.”

“I’ve never sneaked into your room at your father’s house before,” Loki said, obviously considering this as I moved towards the door. “Are you trying to get me murdered?”

“You’re supposed to be the smart one,” I retorted, pushing the door open. Only the main door refused to budge after I rattled the handle.

“The door’s locked.” I rounded on him immediately. “Was this one of your traps?”

“No. Was it yours?” he asked sharply before frowning. I did not even bother to correct such a ludicrous statement. “Did my brother come with you? I thought I heard his voice earlier. It couldn’t have been his doing . . .”

I think Loki underestimated his brother severely sometimes. And Sif--who might not have urged Thor to do this but had certainly aided him in other endeavours before.

“I suspect it was.” With some urging from Sif, no doubt. “He’s not alone though.”

We checked the back door--similarly barred--and looked around at the solid stone walls of the lodge, built to repel the most stubborn wild boar and perhaps a giant or two.

Loki quirked a brow at me. “There is a way out, as you know.”

Yes, because the ones who had locked us in did not know of the teleportation spell.

It took only moments for us to set up the spell and get it going so that we emerged a hundred years away in the forest.

Circling about the clearing where the lodge lay, we found Thor and the others setting up Camp nearby for it was getting late. They had chosen a spot to watch the buildings, carefully banking the fire-pit so that they could roast their venison--freshly caught by the look of it--and keep their presence unseen.

“Should we go tell them that we got out?” I asked from where we lay, belly-down in the bushes just upwind of their fire. Fastidious as ever, Loki managed to remain dirt-free despite our crawl through the undergrowth.

“I leave it up to you,” Loki said with a small nod. “I think Thor _meant_ well . . .”

I pondered this problem. “Yes--but they’re out here having a camp-out. While the food, drink and the fireplace are back in there . . .”

“They _do_ look like they’re enjoying themselves. And my brother appears to be keeping out of trouble this way.”

In the end, we left Thor and the others to their watch in the twilight. They should be allowed to feel clever once in a while and enjoy their little deception.

Returning to the hunting lodge by the teleportation spell, we raided the pantry again, consuming an entire meat pie and drinking most of the fruit cordials to replenish our energy. 

And since we were already in trouble and late respectively, I took the opportunity to remind the prince that he should not leave a lady for so long while he gallivanted with his brother.

We had not done this in the hunting lodge before, but it was surprisingly comfortable once we had transferred all the blankets and fur rugs in front of the fireplace. It was built to keep out wild animals and whatever drafts that might blow past.

Now it would keep the noise of our lovemaking in.

“Did you think it would end like this?” Loki asked as he picked the leaves and twigs out of my hair--the souvenirs of my ride and that little trip outside--he was obviously intent on making me wait a little longer even after we had stripped off our clothes. His clothes had remained clean and free of grime.

“No, certainly not, I had no intention of succumbing to your blandishments and superior hair-dressing skills,” I drawled, wriggling my bare toes in the fur rug and enjoying the feeling of those long fingers freeing my braid and massaging my scalp. “A little to the left--ahh, better . . .”

“But you have,” he whispered against my bare shoulder. “Otherwise you wouldn’t still be here.”

“Yes, yes, you have the most talented fingers and the most slippery tongue--though I’d like them applied somewhere else right now,” I told him, pressing back against him and feeling the shiver of desire that my movements brought. “Ravish me properly, why don’t you?”

“All in good time, demanding wench,” he laughed. “You’ll wear me out before we have mended our quarrel.”

I stilled. “Is it not mended yet?”

“I have not decided yet.”

“Then what I am I doing here practically naked on your lap?” I demanded.

“Succumbing to my foul blandishments? Ow--that was uncalled for,” he complained for I had planted my elbow in his ribs.

“I could give you a bloody nose, if you want,” I offered, wriggling about to face him and shoving my leg up between us. “I will not have you sulking and upsetting everyone--it is unseemly and I cannot keep running up here whenever a plague of creepy-crawlies show up. You will have to learn to live with disappointment once in a while.”

“Are you disappointed then?” But there was doubt there--a firm tone and a reprimand could do that. This I knew and this I could use.

“Yes--because this is why my mother doesn’t like you. She thinks you’re immature. That goes double for your brother,” I added, echoing the general consensus of the court and most of Asgard.

“It seems that I have to impress your mother instead,” he said. But I knew he was still turning this over in his head. Loki simultaneously wanted his brother’s approval and wanted out of his shadow. He wanted parental approval as much as he rebelled against it.

Such was the conflict within him.

I leaned my head against his brow. "Court my mother then court me--it sounds a lot more elegant than you with your hands up my skirt."

"Ah, but you are not in a skirt at the moment," he said, turning to nuzzle at my neck. We had unfinished business here. His hand slipped between my thighs and I opened them instinctively, welcoming his touch.

“I appear to have mislaid them.” Along with the rest of my riding leathers, of course. “I was in a hurry to get here with your brother and his friends after all.”

"What shall we tell them?" he asked slowly, his eyes darkening with desire and _want_. 

_He will always want--it is his weakness and his power._

I liked this. I liked having this power over him.

“I could claim credit for stopping you,” I suggested, shifting about so that my legs slipped around his waist. “Make it sound like a proper story so that I don't get chewed out for staying so long.”

“It could work. I’ll be the blackguard who was easily swayed by your womanly wiles,” Loki said, stroking the most womanly part of me slowly. "And my brother?"

"Let Thor and Sif gloat and think that they have succeeded," I whispered against his cheek even as my pulse sped up. "They did mean well."

"Ah, my brother deserves a little credit." His breath tickled my neck and jawline as he kissed a line down my skin. I tilted my head back, toes curling against the furry nape of our improvised bedding. “So be it.”

I demanded a kiss and he obliged me even as his clever fingers worked my clitoris and drew out a breathy moan. I could tell that he liked the ability to do this to me as well.

He did not need to ask me for permission to arrange me on my back so that he could slide down between my legs. And I let him, enjoying the caresses that were both worshipful and teasing. He would draw this out, I suspected.

And I was right. Slowly, torturously, he stroked the fire within me with his tongue and his lips until I swore at him impatiently. That only made him more inventive in the end. It was sweetness and heat and desire all at once--a wave of pleasure that I surrendered myself to in the end, crying out and writhing wantonly on the furs.

When he bent over me to kiss me again, I could taste myself on him. I quickened again when he entered me, his need barely restrained. I urged him on for I was ready and not adverse to a little roughness every now and then.

So he took me there in front of the fireplace, hard and fast while I marked him with my nails and held him to me with my legs clamped around his torso.

Afterwards, we stroked up the fire and drowsed off in front of it, knowing full well that we were well guarded. Going back to face the music could be done tomorrow.

As I drifted into sleep, I thought that I would like to keep this for as long as I could. I would keep him for as long as I could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	9. Brothers and Sisters / Letters from Five Realms

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It went pretty much as planned in the end. We let Thor and the others unbar the doors the next day to find us brimming over with coy sweetness and conciliatory niceness.

He almost overplayed it--Loki was not truly nice. He was only nice in the way that the cats were nice to you when you had a fish for them.

We were not blamed for staying away so long--that had been Thor’s doing. And Sif’s. But as Thor was the first prince and he had been trying to do something positive, he received a scolding for not hauling his younger brother back immediately and was banned from hunting for a month.

The younger brother in question received his royal dressing-down with good grace. His punishment, he accepted with rather less enthusiasm.

No more mucking out the stables for him, oh no--Odin sent him to the coast for three whole months, tasked with relieving the lighthouse-keepers of the most northern outpost. Since Loki was so free with his magic, he ought to be able to do the work of three men. So the All-Father said and so his will was carried out.

The lighthouse-keepers and their wives were overjoyed. They were probably the only ones.

“You’d make a wonderful beacon. Not a very good lighthouse-keeper though.” Sitting atop the stone rim that circled the lantern room, I swung my legs idly as I watched the magical glow in the machinery below me that was centred around a pair of booted feet that poked out of the base of the great lens.

“I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,” Loki retorted from the bowels of the lantern room. The light and lens mechanism required regular servicing and the newest lighthouse keeper had received a whole stack of manuals and about two lines of instructions by the men he was relieving. 

It was turning out to be a test of Loki’s ingenuity and Asgard was currently free from plagues of creatures and illusionary menaces because the work of three men was keeping him thoroughly busy.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I wondered. 

“I don’t see you helping.” There was a metallic clang from the middle of the machinery, followed by some muted swearing. 

“I’d offer to hold a lamp for you, but you’ve got a fine light spell going,” I pointed out from my perch. “Besides, I brought dinner. I baked the fish pie myself too.”

“Well, you might have to keep dinner warm a little longer because this might take a while,” he called up from below. “And pass me that box of tools beside you.”

“You ought to be nice to me--I came up all this way to see how you were doing after all.” I hopped down in the pit with the requested item and nudged it with my foot into the crevice he was wedged into. 

“Ymir’s left testicle--have some patience, Sigyn. I cannot service you and service the lens at the same time!”

“Be careful what you say in a room full of mechanical parts and sharp tools, your highness,” I warned him. “Anyhow, I cannot stay long--my grandmother expects me back tonight.”

The twins and I were visiting our grandparents--my mother’s mother and father. Grandmother lived in her coastal estate of Hernskeep just a little south of this outpost, claiming that the sea air did her good. Whatever it did, she was still hale and healthy after four and half millennia. Not daft by any stretch of the imagination, but still willing to use her status as an ancient crone to get what she wanted. Grandfather fished a lot--claiming that retirement was boring and that he would build a fine ship and go travelling one day soon.

In the meantime, they hosted our family in their stone-walled keep by the sea, complaining all the while that we did not come over to see them enough. It was reason enough for me and my sisters to visit them sometimes without our parents. But I had other reasons for visiting--one of whom was currently trying to sort out a problem with the mechanism that allowed the massive lens to turn.

There was a pause in the tinkering amidst the great gears. Perhaps somebody was feeling a little lonely after a month in this great stone tower.

“Would you _please_ help me fetch the third manual on the lens mechanism from downstairs?”

“Since you asked so nicely . . .”

The lighthouse-keeper’s quarters lay a few flights of stairs below the lantern-room, some three storeys off the ground and the rocky base of the tower. The stout walls kept inclement weather out and it was snug enough, if boring. I bet he read a lot while keeping watch over this great light bulb by the sea. There would be the weekly delivery of supplies and little else to break up the monotony other than servicing the lens.

His scapegrace highness finished whatever he had to do in a quarter an hour after the manual was delivered. The beacon would shine on and the fishermen and sailors would be safe from being shipwrecked on the rocky shoals for another night. I hauled him out by the ankles and almost laughed at the sight of his face after almost two hours under the lens machinery.

“Oh look at you,” I exclaimed, pulling out a napkin from the dinner basket to rub at the grime and grease on his face. 

“ _Now_ you feel sorry for me.” But he did not shy away from my ministrations.

“It’s because you look like you’ve done actual work--I like a man who works hard.” Truth for the most part. His spotless clothing always suggested effortless living--which was pretty much a lie for anyone who aspired to be a sorcerer.

“Is that why you considered that hardworking clerk?” Loki asked as his face became slightly cleaner.

“Perhaps.” Having the second prince as a paramour gave a girl quite a reputation. It tended to scare off other men, as I had predicted. None of that went anywhere beyond really long walks around the Palace. Mayhap they also feared Thor’s unsubtle interference in his brother’s affairs. 

This was the problem of consorting with princes. You could not tell the older brother to sod off or mind his own business. 

For once, Loki did not seem to mind his brother’s unasked for influence in the background. He would never say it, of course.

“So I should take up lighthouse-keeping or some trade then?” he asked shrewdly when I set down the napkin. “Like mother, like daughter, I believe.”

“Appearing to work a little harder would not hurt,” I said neutrally as I got out my pastry-clad dinner along with a bottle of wine. Damn--I forgot to bring the cups.

“You do not fancy being a lighthouse-keeper’s wife?” Loki moved his hands and mouthed an incantation, bringing forth two receptacles of clear glass. Showy, but practical at least.

“I’ll take what I can get, if I like it enough.” I busied myself with dividing up the fish pie, handing the workman-like repast to him wrapped in a fresh napkin.

I thought of the sea outside, pushing and pulling away at the shore. It was quiet out here. Much too quiet. It would drive us both mad before long.

“I’ve hear you in full cry before--you have the mouth of a fishwife,” he said snidely. “Alas, I am not a fisherman.”

We chewed in silence for a while, listening to the sound of waves.

“I wouldn’t have you if you were a fisherman. And I can’t have you when you’re a prince,” I remarked at last, taking a long sip of wine.

“Contrary creature,” he said. “You do not love me for myself.”

I knew about contrary creatures--it took one to know one.

“I would not love you if you smelled of fish, I’m afraid.” I looked out at the dimly illuminated sea outside--dark and cold and so unlike that lagoon on Midgard. “I could not love you if you took another to wife.”

Truth, for all that I doled it out sparingly these days.

“There have been no offers for Odin’s sons,” he countered, tossing back the last of his wine.

“Your reputations must have spread amongst the Nine Realms,” I retorted. “No-one wants snakes under the bed or five different envoys offended in one day.”

“That was mostly Thor.” In Loki’s view, Thor would get the credit if it was _mostly_ his fault.

“Thor didn’t enchant the refreshments so that everything they said afterwards came out as gibberish.”

He had the grace to admit it once he realised that the jig was up. “So you’ve heard about that too.”

“Erika told me. She saw traces of seiðr in the cups and rightly fingered you as the culprit.” It was amazing what you could find if you were in the right place in the palace and the culprit left a signature behind. If Erika could see it, then so could Odin. “What did your father do?”

“He’s letting us stew in anticipation of what our penance will be. I hope it’s not a few more months out here,” Loki mused. “Thor would be a terrible lighthouse-keeper.”

A little more hard labour might keep their highnesses out of trouble. They had the vitality of youth coupled with their not-so-insignificant powers--in other words: trouble.

“The All-Father could send you down a salt-mine,” I offered. “Or have you two replace the guards on the lower levels for a while.”

“Fortunately for us, you’re not my father’s advisor,” Loki said with a mock shudder. 

“I’ll take the job if it’s open.”

“I’ll be sure to recommend you if it ever comes up. But I’ll be accused of nepotism in addition to being daft enough to appoint a woman to the position.”

It was fortunate for him that I knew he was jesting. Everyone knew that Odin had advisors, but Queen Frigga’s words were louder and weightier in the end.

I kicked him in the ankle anyway. “I should have dropped that box on your head.”

“Always with the violence, Sigyn,” he complained. “If you wish to pattern yourself after my brother, you’ll have to go up again Sif for the title of battle maiden.”

“Sif can have it. With my blessings.” Loki and Sif had developed a sort of truce over the years--mainly because of Thor. I refused to take sides most of the time. “And I would be cheering _her_ on if you were sparring.”

“I am not surprised that you women stick together,” Loki sighed. “Sif threatened to gut me like a fish--not quite so directly, of course, but the way she was holding that double-bladed lance made me worry when she mentioned you.”

“Sif is my heart-sister. Of course she would care for my well-being. And you have yet to be threatened by my mother and my father and my sisters,” I pointed out.

“Such charming customs your family has,” Loki said, his brows arching upwards in actual concern. “How might I escape unscathed?”

“You don’t stand a chance against my mother. Just so you know.”

“Fortunately, your mother is safely married.” There was no more wine or dinner left and he turned his attention to my face, brushing aside the crumbs from my mouth.

Yes, hanky-panky _was_ on the cards and I enjoyed it while I could. We were young enough to appreciate having time to ourselves. But this was supposed to be punishment duty, not a private haven for us to canoodle like lust-addled adolescents.

I pulled away reluctantly. “I have to see my grandfather about a chariot tomorrow morning.”

“And I have another night of watching this infernal device.” He looked slightly dishevelled--it was a good look on him, I decided.

“Tomorrow. I’ll come tomorrow.” It was probably good to keep him waiting a while sometimes. Ymir’s left testicle, indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning found me in the main courtyard of Hernskeep, oiling up the harness for the horses. My grandmother’s grooms had found the old battle chariot and Grand-dad had taken an interest in fixing it up. I imagine he was bored and a little engineering project was diverting. Grand-dad used to be involved in designing bridges and catapults, but he had his fill of war and wanted none of it now.

Granna had volunteered two horses for the job, saying that the exercise would do them some good. I had asked if they had done carriage or wagon duty before, but the answer was _no_ \--this was going to be a little rough.

“That’s it then,” Grand-dad said, giving the wheels an experimental kick or two after he was done tinkering with the chariot. “The axle’s been greased and I’ve replaced the old shafts. The car’s fine--you don’t get workmanship like that these days.”

Amidst the small gathering of servants and tenants of the keep, the twins looked at the chariot with much interest as the horses were put into their harness between the shafts. “That looks like fun.”

It looked like a teeth-jolting ride, but the young always thought they were invincible.

“It reminds me of how Hilda rode to your parents’ wedding in her chariot. Rode right up the steps and up to the main table before she doffed her helmet,” our grandmother reminisced. “ _So sorry I’m late, Astryd--some Midgardians were having a scrap!_ That’s what she said before drinking her own weight in mead and winning seven arm-wrestling matches in a row at the feast.”

Aunt Hilda got the best stories because she used to be a Valkyrie. She had made it all the way to Squadron Leader before she retired. Now she bred horses and occasionally arm-wrestled competitively. And won often, I might add.

The twins had been too young to go out with Aunt Hilda in her chariot while her sister Valkyries collected the valiant dead from battlefields. So they did not know about the joys of chariot riding. The crows and the eviscerated dead bodies they did not need to know about until later. 

“Be careful, my dears,” our grandmother said as we boarded the chariot for its debut.

“We’ll be fine, Granna,” Ashilde reassured her just before I snapped the reins. “I’m sure the chariot is in good shape after Grand-dad fixed--”

The twins screamed in stereo as we clattered off. I might have done the same at some point as the chariot jounced up and down over the uneven paving stones. It was not a smooth ride, but it got better when we turned out of the cobbled lane and started down the path that led down to the beach.

Mind you, that turning was fairly sharp and the shrieks that accompanied it nearly deafened me. Keeping my balance in the shaking chariot was either aided or hampered by Astra and Ashilde clinging to my waist like limpets while they held onto the railing around the side of the car.

Our grandparents waved at us as we bumped our way down the trail that was all right for horses but murder on these wheels. It got better once we reached the flat and even road that ran alongside the shore. I let the horses run then.

Given leave to react against the great noisy thing they were strapped to, the horses ran and the landscape fairly flew past. My sisters stopped trying to cut off the circulation to my lower extremities as we coasted past the small hamlets that were home to the local fishermen.

As we raced along the beach, I beheld the stone tower of the lighthouse in the distance. The very noticeable flash of a red cloak atop the lighthouse indicated that his scapegrace highness had a visitor.

When we finally turned about and returned to our grandparents, it was past noon and our hair was tangled and snarled like unspun wool. Our voices were hoarse from yelling and our skin just a little sun-burned from the excursion--but we were mostly unharmed.

Grand-dad noted the way Astra and Ashilde practically fell off the back of the car and the generally wobbling of our legs.

“We ought to put in better suspension?” he suggested mildly.

The twins nodded frantically and Granna herded us all away for lunch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I thought I heard harpies down on the beach today,” Loki commented later that evening. Up in the snug little apartment in the lighthouse, a small fire warmed the curved rooms and cast flickering shadows over the stone walls.

“Harpies?” I asked, taking off my cloak and hanging it up. “Did they have three heads and scream a lot?”

“Harpies. Creatures from Greek mythology. Half woman, half bird.” He gestured at the books on the table. “I’ve been reading about the other pantheons that the Midgardians believe in.”

“Your brother actually brought the right books?” I looked over them curiously. “I saw that big brother visited you today.” 

“He’s temporarily banned from hunting and cannot go adventuring with his friends,” Loki said dismissively. “Thor has little else to occupy his time.”

Anyone who just met the two princes would have thought that they had led separate lives with very little contact. They were just that different. Loki’s dismissiveness of his older brother’s presence and the occasional lapses where Thor forgot that his younger brother was getting dragged into trouble along with him would give that impression.

Wait a while longer and you would wonder where you got that impression from. They were difficult to keep apart and they took each other for granted. Loki and Thor were the constants in each other’s lives and where one made trouble the other was not far behind.

Sometimes, I wondered about them. Even Astra and Ashilde were not so . . . complicated and they were _twins_. Odin All-Father, I suspected, had his reasons for separating his sons whenever one of them got into trouble. They would have to learn to live without the invisible supports that they had built around themselves.

Loki was much bolder when his brother was not around and meddling in his good-natured way. We did not spend the entire evening speaking about books, the latest spell to work on or of Thor.

Speaking of nosy siblings, the twins were awake when I finally made it back to my grandparents’ keep.

They watched as I returned from my evening outing, curiosity warring with the prudishness that the younger set reserved for their older siblings.

“You smell like a fox den crossed with a stable,” Astra complained as I shucked off my riding skirts in preparation for a bath.

“It just means she’s had sex and he didn’t even offer to clean her up before she rode back here,” Ashilde said.

Not strictly the truth--Loki always offered and I usually refused. If anyone was going to take care of my bodily fluids, it was going to be me and not by magical means. And Loki was just a tad too tidy for my tastes.

“I like taking baths--sometimes on my own,” I retorted, earning crinkled noses and sisterly censure as they watched me climb into the bath. 

Some five hundred years ago, our grandmother had the bathing chambers redone. Marble and stone baths were much too cold, so the bathrooms had wooden tubs and wooden floors. All the better to cope with the “bracing” temperatures this close to the sea.

“Mother doesn’t like you carrying on with Prince Loki--you’re a bad influence on each other.” Astra paused for a moment before asking, “Is he any good in bed?”

“None of your business.” Oh, the joy of sisters.

“You wouldn’t swive him if he wasn’t any good.”

“Hark at the mouth on you--I should wash it out with soap.” I brandished the bar of soap threateningly. Or as threateningly as I could while sitting in the bath.

“You ought to get him to promise you a dowry--then you can marry someone who is ready to settle down,” Ashilde said, mimicking our mother’s tone. The practice of royalty paying off their lovers that way was not really new. 

“Then we can be aunts,” Astra chipped in excitedly. “And Mother and Father can have grandchildren instead of trying for another baby.”

The other reason why we were here. The thought of your own parents having a go at reproduction was always uncomfortable, no matter what age you were.

We all scrunched our faces up at the thought of what was going on at home.

“Another baby would be nice.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” I pointed out. I had been almost four centuries old when the twins were born and I could still remember that time quite well. “There’d be crying at all hours and Mother will be cross when she’s not feeding the baby or changing nappies.”

“We’ll camp out at Granna’s and bother Grand-dad to build his ship,” Astra said determinedly. 

“Or just go sailing across the stars like Freyja when the mood strikes her.”

“Mother won’t let you run away from chores that easily.” I splashed a handful of water in their direction. “Now shoo--off to bed with you.”

The prospect of hanging around Hernskeep was looking more and more attractive by the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All our half thought-out plans came to a head two months later.

Odin All-Father sent his wayward offspring on an apologetic and educational tour of the five Realms they had offended with his retainers on hand to shepherd them through the formalities. Ostensibly as a show of good faith, of course. The envoys would be doing the actual work.

Bodil the Valkyrie declared that they had enough interest to hold a chariot race and Sif wanted to start practicing _immediately_ even though it would not be for months.

And my parents announced that we were to have another sibling on the way. 

I thought that spiked wheels would be good on a chariot and bade my time. I should learn patience after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Lady Sigyn,_

_Greetings from Álfheim. My brother sends his regards--or at least I think he was saying something like that in the midst of grumbling over the rose-coloured wine. Or was it the flower-flavoured soup? He complains that the women here are barely distinguishable from the men and have very small tits. His words, not mine. It nearly gave Birger a heart attack when he said it in the feasting hall, but the old sorcerer had a spell of silence placed over our table for instances like that._

_The Ljósálfar later scandalised our minders by suggesting that we go with them to a fairy ring for an orgy. Or was it to gather the special mushrooms that would send us into a psychotropic trance for three days? Either way, Birger forbade us to cavort with the elves and things have not looked up since then._

_I have enclosed a map of the Elven King’s Palace. It is for Sif and the others to rescue my brother from the tedium of Elven hospitality. We have not completed the Twelve Gates of Diplomacy for Envoys yet and it has been almost a month. Do not worry about me--I will either slit my wrists or self-implode by the Ninth Gate._

_Loki Odinson_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Prince Loki,_

_I fear that rescue is out of the question. You are to keep an eye on your brother and behave. Sif is also heavily involved in chariot practice. She took to it like a fish to water even though she almost knocked her left eye out the first time we took the chariot for a spin._

_In the meantime, I have trained a few crows to fly over certain people and their accuracy is almost perfect._

_My grandfather has been improving the old chariot--it is practically an antique but he is very fond of restoring things._

_Sigyn of the cats and crows_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Lady Sigyn,_

_The mines of the Dwarfs are extensive. And dark. Their King lives very far underground, in a warren of a palace that has natural seams of gold and jewels in the walls. You could get lost inside the tunnels. Did I mention that it was dark?_

_Birger and I have been playing chess--endless games of chess. The score stands at seventeen games to him and ten games to me. I will have to catch up while trying to persuade Thor to keep still long enough to play a game._

_Thor complained that he had not seen any Dwarf women around. Birger had to tell him that Dwarf women had beards like men and dressed just like them. My brother lost interest after that. One wit quipped that Dwarfs were exactly the right height to either give oral pleasure or terrible pain._

_On the other hand, Dwarfs are much easier to appease. No flowery formalities, only reams and reams of treaties and trade agreements where we pay a large number of goats, sheep, cows, fruit and iron ore for their goods. I believe that everyone left the table believing that they had got the better of the other side._

_I have attempted to conjugate some Dwarfish runes (accuracy not guaranteed):_

\- The battle-axe of my aunt is on the table.  
\- The battle-axe of my aunt is embedded in Snorri’s spine.  
\- My aunt is a right battle-axe.

_Loki Odinson_

_Post-script: I enclosed a souvenir of the time they took us into a shaft and gave us the pickaxes normally allocated to unskilled children to try their hand at mining._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Prince Loki,_

_I appreciate the lump of coal you sent along with your last missive. However, I will not be waiting for it to become a thing of beauty. The pressure in certain courtly backsides might be able to turn it into a diamond though._

_I have received the loan of a pair of horses from my Aunt Hilda for the chariot race. Sif is most pleased and is having Hogun equip the chariot wheels with spikes as per our earlier discussion. He has vetoed the idea of foot-long spikes, but recommended half-foot long spikes as a compromise._

_My mother is literally blooming and is finally over her morning sickness. We look forward to the newest addition with equal parts trepidation and joy._

_Sigyn_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dearest Sigyn,_

_Send help. We are dying of boredom and of the heat on Muspelheim. The score stands at twenty-five games to me and thirty-six to Birger._

_Thor is actually improving. He has not said anything about wenches or hunting in days and might be coming close to learning diplomacy. Which means he has learned to shut up at the right time and let Birger do all the talking._

_Talks remain fraught with indecision as we have very little in common with the Fire Giants and they want very little to do with us diplomatically._

_I have discovered that the Fire Giants do actually have over fifty terms for fire. It also varies on how the terms are used in their language. Various usages include:_

\- The heart-fire. (The centre of their world or the sun of a solar system.)  
\- You are the fire in my heart. (Very romantic usage according to them.)  
\- Your fire is burning my foot. (Used when referring to the fact that the other Fire Giant is standing too close.)  
\- You are on fire. (Used when referring to someone who is not a Fire Giant and standing too close.)

_Loki Odinson_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Prince Loki,_

_I have enclosed a spell that Freyja recommends for unsightly burns._

_Hogun knows his spiked chariot wheels. They are all the rage again now that Bodil has set a date for the race and everyone has hauled out their grandfather’s chariot and wants to be a charioteer. Hogun has become unexpectedly popular with the ladies and Fandral has taken to sulking because of it._

_Sif said that we should be prepared to fight for Hogun because we had appropriated him as chariot technician first. This is mainly because she wants to break a spear haft over the head of Ingrid Gunnarsdottir for acting like a hoyden and trying to poach what is ours._

_I have my hands full trying to keep Sif from picking a fight with all the other cats. Which is well and good because my mother’s moods are terrible to behold at the moment._

_Sigyn_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear Sigyn,_

_I believe Birger regrets accepting Lord Freyr’s hospitality in Vanaheim. My aching head begs to agree._

_Freyr is a wonderful host to everyone, of course. Thor liked him immediately because he is full of wit, organises a good hunt and has beautiful ladies hanging off his arm at all hours of the day. He also supplied the entire party with drink, wenches and opiates of a suspicious nature. Freyr is apparently a patron of the arts for he is skilled in lute-playing, funds starving playwrights and invites many people to view the frescos on his ceiling._

_I think that just means he has a lot of orgies and paints his lovers in the buff afterwards when he’s not composing scurrilous verses about the sexual exploits of his rivals._

_Our local ambassador spends half of his time higher than a kite and the other half trying to compose suitably coherent reports to send back to Asgard. He appears to have picked up some sort of local disease that I hope is not contagious. This is pretty much the state of any Asgardian expatriate to Vanaheim._

_I have taken up limerick-writing in my spare time. Unfortunately, when I woke up and looked at them again, they all began with “There was a young elf from Álfheim. . .” and it invariably gets worse from that point on. Freyr said that they were a good start, but I should not pin my hopes on a career in poetry._

_Loki_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Your Highness,_

_It pleases me to hear from your good self that you have been drunk, drugged out of your mind and having a grand old time in Vanaheim. Please do not bring back any local diseases._

_Your father was most interested to hear of you and your brother’s exploits in Vanaheim. I believe Heimdall has told him everything._

_Sigyn Sigmundrsdottir_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_We are in trouble again, aren’t we?_

_Loki_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	10. Knee Deep / The War in Vanaheim

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“--and so Father said we would have to deal with the dire wolves up in the mountains and that dragon in Vanaheim afterwards.”

The prodigal princes returned to considerably less fanfare. Odin All-Father had time to cool his head before dealing with his sons’ descent into wastrel-hood--helped somewhat but the fact that Freyr had returned with them and that was another headache on his plate. Which explained why Odin had merely told them off before assigning them to rid the Realms of certain predatory creatures that were troubling the local populaces.

After they were done mucking out the Palace stables, of course. We suspect that Queen Frigga had Odin add that in so that she could have time to get a few words in before they were sent to do something useful. The Queen’s words were more private than Odin’s though--and many were left guessing after their royal highnesses left their mother’s chambers looking extremely chastised.

Sif and I thought it great sport to come by after racing the chariot down the ramparts of the outer wall to have a gander at them in the stables. Along with around half of Asgard.

The vigour and the general direction in which the princes were shovelling discouraged most people from getting near. Which was probably the point. Anyhow, Freyr came along on a gorgeous filly and distracted everyone again before he left, a whole string of fascinated followers in tow.

“Is Freyr’s cock as large as everyone says it is?” I asked, risking getting a shovel of horse apples thrown my way by an irate prince.

“You, infuriating creature, need only throw yourself at him to find out.” And yes, I had to dodge a rain of horse muck.

“He isn’t very discriminating, is he?” Sif and I had not been so inclined to leave the princes by themselves. No, this was much more fun.

“Oh Lord Freyr’s so handsome and gallant!” Sif said in a shrill falsetto that parodied some of the cats at courts. “And he writes poetry! And best of all, he’s not knee-deep in horse-shit!”

Sif, like Lady Frigga, did not approve of wastrels.

“Loki, they are being most unsympathetic,” Thor complained from where he was tolling. His star had been eclipsed by the arrival of the flamboyant Freyr--he of the much debated private parts. It happened every now and then--Freyr could not really stay long in Asgard before a lynch mob of angry parents ran him out of town.

“Why would you expect sympathy from them?” his brother retorted, heaving another shovelful out of the stall he was working on. “I’ve tried everything on that one and she is still a hard-hearted wench.”

“I cannot be with a man who smells like horse manure.” 

Sif and I had to run away at that point because all the energetic shovelling aimed in our general direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the days that followed, I was well and truly preoccupied again with my duties, Freyja’s inconsistent lessons, looking after my mother in her current state and driving practice added onto all that.

When I returned home in the evenings, I wanted nothing other than a bath and to get some sleep. 

I had a few days away from my duties because my mother needed help at home-- she was already showing at this stage of her pregnancy and getting tired rather often. Yawning away over the notes I had managed to make from what Freya had been going on about--some sort of trance-like state that would be useful for conserving energy and magic--I looked forward to my bed as soon as my hair was dry. But I was interrupted in the middle of nodding off by a distinctive feline howl. Grey Ragnar was defending his territory again.

My own room was comfortably snug and devoid of cats at the moment--they would walk in as and when they liked, unhampered by closed doors for my window was usually open and there were climbable casements and vines outside.

A black cat did hop through my window moments later, silent as a shadow and unexpected at this hour.

“Alfdis? How did you find your way here?” I wondered.

But it was not Alfdis from the Palace--it was too big to be Alfdis. Another cat followed, a tortoiseshell this time. And then a black and white cat. I smelt chicanery and magic.

Which was borne out when an entire stream of cats poured into my room and pooled together in a vortex of fur that revolved around until it gained height and a significantly different form.

“Equivalent mass was always an issue,” Loki Odinson muttered as he brushed cat hair off his surcoat. There might have been one or two rips in it courtesy of Grey Ragnar--the tough old tom was not about to be so easily displaced even by a horde of cats.

“You solved it--some of it at least,” I said, throwing a clothes brush at him to get rid of the fur. It had been almost a month since he had gone with his brother on their quest. “Why did you risk life, limb and clothing for this visit?”

“I’m wounded,” he said, hand over his heart. “We have returned from a bout of dragon-slaying, covered in glory, as my brother would say.”

“Better than returning home covered in ichor and other things,” I reminded him. Thor might be passed out somewhere, blood-splatters on his armour and hammer still in hand after drinking his weight in mead after his victory, but not Loki. “How did it feel to slay a dragon?”

“It was a mighty beast, as Thor would tell everyone, but in the end, it was flesh, bone, ichor and scales--which I collected, of course.” Loki set the glass phials and the packets down on my worktable--such were the tokens he was allowed to give me without fanfare.

“I’m glad you took a bath before visiting at this hour then.” 

He had seen me in less than my nightshirt before after all. “I have to share your time with my mother, your mother, Freyja, your friends, the cats and the chariot racers now,” Loki said. “This is a rather small portion of your time.”

“I am not a loaf of bread for dividing. You’ll have to take all and not a part of me.”

“I would if you’d let me,” he said quietly, moving to sit by me on the bed.

“Under my parents’ roof--you really are asking for a battle-axe in the head.”

“You did worse in the Palace.”

“That did not count,” I declared, remembering that incident under the table without shame.

“You were a distraction.” And he was repaying me in kind with his breath on my skin and his fingers brushing at my hair.

“And I am too tired to be distracted now. You may take your boots and coat off before getting under the covers,” I said, turning to pull up the blankets so that I could get under them. “Good night, slayer of dragons--I think you need to sleep as well.”

“Do I?” I heard his boots hitting the floor before a brief period of fussing as he arranged the pair of them by the bed.

“Yes--there’ll be a celebratory feast for you and your brother tomorrow, won’t there?” A warm weight settled down beside me and I turned to press against him. “Sif and I will be there, of course, pouring mead for the conquering heroes and making much of you both--”

“You two are more likely to pour mead over our heads.”

“But I will be in a much better mood after a good night’s sleep,” I murmured into his shoulder. “And perhaps Sif will get over not being in on a dragon hunt . . .”

“You will have to wait much longer than that. Now sleep, Sigyn.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But when the next day dawned, we were both awakened by the harsh grating _kraaa_ of a raven perched on my window sill.

Not just any raven. Grey Ragnar, Torne and Tove were watching it from the foot of the bed, but none of them were making a move because this was one of Odin’s birds--Huginn or Muninn--and the cats instinctively knew that it was not to be trifled with.

Loki swore and clambered out of bed.

“You’ve been summoned?” I pushed myself up and tied my hair back quickly.

“Rarely does Father use his ravens as messengers,” Loki muttered as he pulled on his surcoat. It must be urgent then.

“Then hurry and go--there’s no place set for you at the breakfast table here, I’m afraid.” I pushed a hairbrush into his hand and straightened out his collar.

Mostly presentable, he did not bother with gestures of farewell before activating the teleportation matrix--the one keyed for the Palace--and vanishing from my bedroom. The raven had left soundlessly and the cats were washing themselves in a frenzy--offended and pretending not to care about the early morning intrusion to their domain by something they did not understand.

I got myself dressed and hurried down to the kitchens. Bearing a full tray, I opened the door of my parents’ room with my foot and woke them.

“Something’s going on in the Palace,” I announced as I set the tray before them.

Less than an hour later, a messenger boy arrived and my father, already fed and dressed, rode to the Palace in haste. My mother and I looked at each other in silent trepidation--Odin had summoned his warriors and war chiefs.

Sif can barrelling in before lunch was done cooking. She was flushed and excited as she usually was whenever something violent was in the offing.

“The Dark Elves are moving on Vanaheim--Odin has ordered the army to mobilise!”

Now Asgard being what it was and the Aesir being who they were, that meant that the troops could mobilise within two hours of the All-Father ordering it to be done. There was a difference in preparing for war and being prepared for war. Asgard was always prepared for it.

In the case of Vanaheim . . . there were very old ties between the Vanir and the Aesir stemming from the ancient war that had resulted in a sort of truce. The alliance between the two races had seen Freyr and Freyja come to Asgard with their father. And in this case, the Vanir had Asgard’s might behind them, for the Dark Elves had broken a number of laws forbidding aggression on another Realm since the last war.

My mother got up from her chair before I could tell her not to. Preparing Father’s amour was her duty and she had always done it. I helped with the heavy lifting and checked the joins for flaws.

Sif had to leave soon after because she was mobilising with the handful of shield-maidens who were still active. My mother looked a little wistful at Sif’s departure, no doubt thinking about the times when she went to war with Father as his shield-maiden.

But pregnancy was one of the few excuses that no-one questioned and my mother knew better than to go off in her current state. I made a few choice comments about age and the fact that she had officially retired from the business of guarding my father’s back and was now guarding his hearth.

“I could still teach you a thing or two, Sigyn,” my mother said, narrowing her eyes at me.

“You’d have to catch me first,” I said cheekily. What she would have done next I never knew, for Father returned home just then, calling for his weapons and armour.

I went to saddle his horse and his remount so that my parents could be soppy in private. It was not the best time, but few could predict when hostilities would lead to all-out war.

Then we got dressed and properly turned out so that we could see the army off.

Even my mother, blotchy and ungainly--her words, not mine--as she was these days, managed a semblance of dignity as she walked out with us. Astra and Ashilde were wearing their hair up and looking all solemn and grown-up too.

The others who were not going to defend Vanaheim lined the streets to watch their loved ones go. The wives, the mothers, the grandparents and the children who were not old enough to be part of the army. Even the veterans of previous battles were wearing their armour in support of the next generation.

Troop after troop of men formed up in the mustering field below the Palace and left for the long span of the causeway that led to Heimdall’s observatory.

We went with our father, making a show of it with my sisters and I in our heirloom chariot. I tried not to look when he kissed Mother in front of his contingent with his men catcalling in the background. A full five score men he had under his command, with another two score in reserve that he could call upon via the Bifrost.

“Take care of your mother,” our father instructed us gruffly as he doled out a bear-hug apiece. To Gramma-- _his_ mother--he offered a more restrained peck on the cheek. The grand old lady came come out to see her son go to war again--that could not have been easy. We did not have a paternal grandfather--he had been killed in battle when the Frost Giants had been driven back into Jötunheim.

There were a few cousins and relations in the ranks as well as the cohorts of shield-maidens and Valkyries. Everyone had someone they knew--be it friends or family--heading out to honour the compact with the Vanir. Such was the way of the warrior and warrior-kin in Asgard.

After my father’s troops had departed, we saw the princes riding out. Thor’s red cloak could be seen from a distance like a banner as he rode with his boon companions.

I had one more goodbye to say and I entrusted my sisters to take our mother home. I found him with his brother, of course.

“Well, it seems as though I will have to return as a war hero after all,” Loki said from where he sat atop his black horse. His formal armour was elaborate and more suited to a parade than a battlefield. “Do I get a good-bye kiss?”

So I hauled his head down and we gave whoever was watching the grand old theatrics.

“Kill whoever you have to kill and have done with it,” I hissed in his ear when we finally came up for air. 

“No entreaties to come back with my shield or on it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What good are you to me dead?” I asked before letting him go. “And don’t you dare wear that ridiculous armour on the field or I’ll have to resurrect your corpse to give you a piece of my mind.”

I had no patience for a long war. Not when I had a father, a pack of relatives, friends and a prince embroiled in it with my mother about to give birth to another sibling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While it was true that most of the warriors were mobilised for the defence of Vanaheim, there was still a substantial force left in Asgard to safeguard our Realm and to act as the second wave if necessary. Odin was no fool on the battlefield.

Neither was Queen Frigga when her husband was away. She had charge of the storehouses and resupply trains. Which was why most available hands were occupied with sharpening weapons, oiling armour and preparing rations for the army.

She drove her handmaidens as hard as any general, demanding hourly updates from Heimdall and the warriors who were carrying out drills in readiness for the time when they would be summoned. We were fair worn out carrying messages to and fro while assisting the healers to pack for their journey just a day after Odin’s vanguard set off. While most warriors preferred to soldier on without a limb or two, casualties would be expected by this stage of any battle or war.

Gramma--father's mother--was on hand to help. Not to be confused by Granna--my mother's mother--of course. But she had her servants take over some of the running of the household as I was running errands and Astra and Ashilde were doing their first tour of duty as assistant horse-wrangler and armour polisher respectively.

Having Gramma in the same household meant that we took every opportunity to be doing other things. Gramma was the proper Asgardian matron in comparison to Granna. My reason for avoiding her was because the second sentence out of her mouth was usually _Why isn’t that girl married yet?_

My mother was not best pleased at having her mother-in-law over, but that was nothing compared to when Granna came over in her cart one day with several barrels of pickled herring for the rations stockpile and asked if she could help since another grandchild was on the way.

At this, my mother looked distinctly green around the gills and it was not all due to the smell of the pickled herring or what we had been having for the noonday meal.

Swallowing my food hurriedly, I was inspired by desperation and volunteered to bring the barrels to the storehouses--no doubt there would be some use for all that herring. My sisters scrambled to get back to their duties after lunch--you never saw them shift so quickly. My mother could use the excuse that she was not feeling well to avoid the inevitable storm--we could not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear Sigyn,_

_I hope all is well in Asgard._

_The first battle would have gone significantly awry if Odin All-Father had not ordered Heimdall to send us down to intercept the first wave of the Dark Elves in the Gorge of Ravensmark while the other half of our forces joined with the Vanir army outside their main city of Svinnrholm. Thor drove them back with his lightning and we broke through their ranks and scattered them. This has bought the Vanir some precious time to shore up their defensive spells for the Dark Elves also practice sorcery on the battlefield._

_Spells of fear and distraction, small as they seem, can sap men of their will and desire to fight. Our men grumbled about this at first, but the All-Father has decreed that they were to work together and that meant that warding charms were allowed and encouraged on the field. I have had the privilege of watching the Vanir seiðmaðr at work as they weave their magic to prevent the horses from tripping, blades from blunting and armour from rusting. The charms for luck on the battlefield are mainly woven by their seiðkona, as are the ones for unmanning a warrior through fear. Their women seem to be better at it for some reason._

_Lord Freyr has proven to be a shrewd adviser when he is not in his cups. He knows the lay of the land--and the lay of many other things, as those ribald campfire jokes go--and has been lifting the morale of his people through verse and song. Father says that nurturing the spirits of soldiers is as important as arming them well. I hope Thor was listening._

_Loki_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Prince Loki,_

_It is busy here as your lady mother musters her own troops to man everything that used to be manned by everyone in the army. Or should I say "womanned"? My sisters are complaining about smelling like horses and armour polish every day, but I think they like the excitement. They have not seen the carnage on the field yet, I suppose._

_Father leaves that out of his letters, but I suspect his private notes to my mother are no so reflective of her delicate condition. Although I would give my eyeteeth to see anyone call my mother a delicate flower._

_My mother is due sometime next week and she is not best pleased that my father might not be able to be with her at the birthing. It is a tradition on her side of the family. Gramma and Granna are butting heads at the moment as they fight for control of the household. Politely, of course. My sisters and I are very happy to be out of the house and engaged in other matters whenever that happens. My mother usually complains of a headache and goes to lie down to avoid having to deal with any of that._

_They should send my Gramma and Granna to the battlefield--it would be over within a day because the Dark Elves' morale would be sapped instantaneously._

_Don't get yourself killed._

_Sigyn_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Sigyn,_

_You might know this by now, but Odin has granted leave to your father Sigmundr and other men in similar positions to return to Asgard while guarding the convoy of our wounded. It is the All-Father’s decision that the reinforcements should come to Vanaheim so as to give the seasoned veterans a shorter tour of duty and the untried soldiers a chance at seeing the battlefield rather than keeping them in reserve._

_The Dark Elves have novel cavalry formations. Thor was all for charging them, but I pointed out that horses--most normal horses--would be spooked by thunder. It worked out quite well in the end once I spelled our horses to be selectively deaf._

_It has been ten days into the Dark Elves’ campaign and the defence of Vanaheim. The Vanir are no slouches when it comes to protecting what is theirs, but the openness of their territories does not allow for many ambushes or forays from higher ground. We were lucky at the gorge, but if a stand has to be made, we would need either a river or a mountain at our backs to prevent the enemy from circling around. The Svartálfar are able to travel lightly and swiftly--but Odin All-Father and the Vanir sorcerers suspect that they also use magic to teleport their forces to where they would be least expected. We are investigating this as I write._

_Loki_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Prince Loki,_

_As I write this, my father is indeed home and cooing at the latest addition. We have a brother and Father had arrived back just in time for the birth. My mother is more than happy, although I think she is steeling herself for what comes next._

_The baby is named Sigurd--I believe you can discern the naming conventions in this family already. He has a healthy set of lungs, as he reminds us every hour. I suspect he will be a warrior._

_My father will be going back with the second wave, which should preclude this letter by a day or two. By the time you read this, there should either have been a decisive victory or at least crushing losses on the opposing side._

_Sigyn_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Sigyn,_

_I doubt that this message will reach you before the news from Heimdall reaches my mother, but there will be a victory feast. At least one or two._

_The Dark Elves retreated in the end. It was not the magnificent and long battle of Thor’s dreams, but once we cottoned onto the fact that they had been distracting us from their compatriots who had been working to undermine the walls of Svinnrholm, we were able to use the second wave to drive them out while the Vanir witches worked their seiðr with our engineers to collapse and fill the tunnels already made. The fact that a large number of Svartálfar were trapped in the tunnels was enough recompense for the invasion of their Realm by the Vanirs’ reckoning. I would not like to be the recipient of their vengeance, in all honesty._

_I still have to oversee the clearing of our camp and attend the Thing with the Vanir leaders. Thor finds it tedious, but Father will not have it any other way. Save a seat at the feast for me and try not to do anything nefarious with the wine._

_Loki_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	11. Wheels Within Wheels

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The return of the warriors was a much less formal affair. There had been casualties and the injured were being moved back at careful intervals.

Practically everyone had come out to see the columns of warriors marching down the causeway from the Bifrost, bearing the dead ahead of them as was custom. This was to honour the sacrifices made and as a reminder of what Asgard had lost.

Asgardians were not immortal and our enemies had learned how to kill our soldiers as we had many generations before. It was a sobering reminder of our mortality to see the rows of bodies laid out on ceremonial shields.

They had done the important rites in Vanaheim, but the bodies had been brought back for the families to conduct their own rituals or private mourning before they were burned. Some family members might take a lock of hair to remember the dead by, but it was mostly just so that they could have some form of closure. A number of mourners looked on stoically as the bodies came back through the Bifrost and they were allowed to proceed behind the bearers of the dead with their heads held high. 

We were less restrained when our father came into view at the head of a column of warriors. The twins managed to throw themselves at him first. He had gone back with the second wave of healers to see to the wounded, honour the dead and attend the Thing with the Vanir. But we were still pleased that he was _finally_ home. My mother carried our brother to meet him with some pride--and much relief because her family was still whole. The stress of it all had been affecting her more than she let on.

So caught up were we in our reunion that we did not hear the approach of the black horse. Loki had to dismount and clear his throat before we noticed his presence.

“Congratulations on the birth of your son, Lord Sigurd,” he said, for it was no mean feat for an Asgardian to have four children after roughly a thousand years of marriage.

My father managed to incline his head in thanks while holding a wriggling infant in his arms--there was little else he could do. His liege’s son was not one of his generation and there were times when either one of them might be charge over the other while on the battlefield. As they were not on a battlefield at the moment, they reverted to being a prince and a lord.

My mother bowed stiffly and we followed her example for we were in a public venue. I rather thought we were all at a loss as to what to do at that moment.

If Loki was discomfited by all this formality, he did not show it. “I would like to request the Lady Sigyn’s presence at our table this evening.” 

We were all going to Palace that evening, so there was no danger of my parents actually objecting to it. It was probably for the benefit of Granna and Gramma, who were eying him in an extremely sceptical fashion. Prince or no prince, my grandmothers were not going to be easily impressed. Most of their generation were like that--a few universe-shaking wars will do that.

Surprised by the decorous invitation, my father managed to agree to it as though he was granting a favour rather than agreeing to a prince’s request. I was torn between wanting to know what Loki was up to and being annoyed at being talked about as though I was not there.

“Does that mean he’s officially courting you instead of mucking about?” Astra asked with the typical impudence of the young when Loki rode out of earshot.

“Is your beau is trying to impress us?” Ashilde was not much better. The twins were not going to be awed by simple flowers after all this time.

“I don’t think very much of this younger generation of princes,” Gramma announced. This immediately sparked off a competition between Granna and Gramma about who could disapprove of our generation the most. I suspected that it would last for quite a while.

My mother and I were of one mind at that point--go home and get out of the public eye as soon as we could. I thought we might have had words when we were back at home, but she was too caught up in my father’s return and the newest addition to the family to nag me.

Or rather she _did_ task me to dress properly and wear some of her jewellery because I would be right up at the King’s table. She still did not think much of Loki, but an invitation from a prince was not something to sneer at. And my father agreed with her.

So I had elaborate gold earrings weighing down my earlobes and my mother’s ruby necklace--an heirloom passed from mother to eldest daughter--around my neck along with a heavy bangle of gold and ivory from my father’s side of the family that evening. My family was not fabulously wealthy, but we liked to put our rich history on show sometimes.

The victory feast for our victors was gargantuan. The wine and mead flowed like water. The roast boar was--

Actually, it was exactly the same as all the other feasts where alcohol and copious amounts of roasted meat featured. If the warriors were a little more boisterous and drank a little more than usual, no-one remarked upon it.

They were _alive_ and they were home and that was all that mattered to the grandmothers, mothers, the sisters and the wives. Although you did not show that you missed their muddy boots ruining your nicely cleaned floor, as a general rule. But we were not wearing mourning weeds and we were grateful.

 _I_ was not one duty for once, which made for an interesting change. The ladies in waiting were the very image of maidenly decorum, pouring the mead for the royal family and making sure that the food did not run low at the head table. I always wondered if they had to fight for the privilege of it. 

Thinking on it, I wondered if it was worth all that effort to cultivate the interest of a lord of suitable standing. It was easy for me to observe and ponder this from my current position. I had the attention of a prince, I did not have to throw himself at him. Not after falling over him at any rate. Or denting his dignity.

I never actually had to defend my position because most ladies thought twice before trying to catch Loki’s attention. Very few of my peers were truly desperate to wed for we were of a long-lived race. We would fuss over engagements, but the weddings would take places only years after.

This was just a warm-up for the next four thousand years.

In retrospect, a celebration supper after a war was not the best place to jostle for the attention of a prince. Thor was far too involved with the toasts and Frigga was usually watching and making sure that he did not do something too rash after overindulging in mead. She would usually also be on the lookout for Loki attempting something devious, but I imagined she hoped that he would behave because he had company.

Loki behaved. If you called making sly jabs at various courtiers and telling jokes about the other nobles’ good behaviour. But I laughed because they were funny jokes and I liked witty barbs as much as the next gossipy cat. A character flaw, one of many flaws perhaps, but I was no less mean than the other women gliding around us. A little less ambitious, a bit more into dabbling with mysticism and magic . . . getting randy after a few false starts in the lists of love. _That_ particular kind of jousting--cruder than the verbal jousting that we engaged in at the table. 

But after that, in the shadowy glade below the Palace, we were free to conduct a more personal celebration.

“Just to check--you haven’t brought back any strange foreign diseases?” I asked when we were, for the want of a better term, getting comfortable in a secluded bower.

“What in the Nine Realms would I be doing to get a foreign disease?” Loki asked. He had laid out his cloak on the springy sward underfoot and we both knew that he had cleaning spells for it.

I sat up at once, my hair probably in a disarray and sticking out at all angles from the neat braids my mother had so carefully pinned up. That was an entire hour’s worth of work gone. “I learned to walk in a war camp--I know what goes on in war camps.”

The prince’s brows very nearly reached his hairline. “Sigyn, I hardly had the time or the inclination to swive the camp followers--”

“There were still camp followers,” I pointed out. I knew some camp followers in my youth--my mother had left me in their care on a few occasions in exchange for coin or medical aid. Most of them tried their best to stay free of disease, but their patrons were not always the most careful sort.

“Yes, and I am not one for patronising them even if they were vouched for,” Loki said reproachfully. “Oh you of little faith.”

“And I _must_ trust in your discretion to protect myself?” Alas, this had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the lessons my mother taught me after she learned that I had my first sexual encounter with a boy I barely knew. She had drummed it in deep back then, reckoning that it was better to be safe than sorry.

“You were not so cautious when we first--”

“You had not been in a war camp back then,” I said. “I also took the appropriate precautions before--”

“You did a diagnostic spell on me,” Loki surmised immediately. Oh, he was fast.

There was nothing for it then. I might as well lay all my cards out on the table. “Yes, and I would do the same for any man--or woman--I thought I had a passably good chance of sleeping with.”

“A passably good ch--”

“Less than ten times in my whole life,” I said through a mouthful of clenched teeth. That shut him up for a few moments as he mulled over the implications.

“I didn’t quite detect that spell,” he said at last.

My mother, as usual, knew a number of subtle diagnostic spells for this very purpose. “You wouldn’t have. It just leaves a residue like the taste of elderflower wine.”

I could see him trying to recall the times when he had encountered the taste--far too many opportunities as the prince favoured wine over beer or mead.

“We’ve shared plenty of cups of wine before,” I said, not unkindly because I knew how he liked to puzzle things out himself.

“And there is no better vessel to deliver a spell than a shared cup,” he quipped. His tone indicated that he was no longer angry, but this would not be forgotten. “If you wish it, just ask whenever you want to run a diagnostic on me.

“You’re not upset?” I had to be certain. Loki was . . . mercurial.

“I think I was. And then I recalled that I had done the same when you passed out that first time.”

Oh. _Oh._ That put a different complexion on things. “Just that first time?” 

“ _All_ of the times when you lapsed into unconsciousness,” he amended. “I had to check your vitals.”

“And I am happy you were mostly a gentleman during all those episodes,” I said, still horribly embarrassed by those incidents in addition to the vulnerable state I had been in.

“And do you wish me to be a gentleman now?”

“Oh now you’re just being silly,” I said and pulled him back down again. Sometimes, I liked it better when he did not talk so much.

After we showed each other how much we missed certain things about each other, we set our clothes to rights before wandering through the gardens, flushed with wine and sated lust.

“Do I still have my earrings? I will catch hell from my mother if I lose them,” I muttered as I tried to get my hair back in order. Failing to redo my formerly neat braids, I settled for tying my hair back in loose knot, swatting irritably at Loki’s hands as he tried to arrange the flyaway strands behind my ears. “How in the world are your clothes unwrinkled? Oh you didn’t just m--”

“It’s just a small spell. You still have your earrings. And necklace. That abstentious bracelet is still in place--you weren’t wearing any rings.” Loki managed to brush off most of the grass from my skirt. “You know if you’d just let me help you clean up--”

“I’m all right with looking like I just had a tumble in the grass,” I said, a shade more belligerently than was warranted. “And I’ll be cross if you don’t let _those_ fade away naturally.”

The marks on his neck and shoulders would fade away before the hour was done. Asgardians healed very quickly and while this meant that I could return home without the obvious signs that gave away what I had been doing, it was not as though I was ashamed or that my entire family did not know about my affairs.

“I’m not ashamed of them, Sigyn--just circumspect.” Loki’s clothes always had high collars and long sleeves.

“Yes--how anyone believes you’re circumspect is beyond me.” Bickering without heat, we got ourselves sorted out eventually before allowing ourselves to be seen again.

Sif found me not long after and I bade Loki good night.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” Sif said as we headed back home. My mother had probably brought my siblings back home early because of little Sigurd. If my father had stayed on to indulge, Frigga had rooms ready to receive most of her husband’s drunk generals.

“Like what? Like you’re going to give me a lecture--which I know you are,” I stated, leaning just a little bit on her shoulder. “I’m not that drunk--just a little--”

“No lecture, dearest, I know you had a hard time with both him and your father away in Vanaheim--”

“No, I knew they’d come back.” 

No, I had not known. I had not even tried to cast a spell to see them in Vanaheim. Fear had stayed my hand. Fear and some superstitious sense of dread. You did not get to use power without paying a price. Watching my mother go about tight-lipped and white-faced for the past month or so, I knew that she had thought about it as well. Looking into the future was not even on the table.

 _Do not look into the future. The Norns do not like it when you trespass on their domain. You may also not like what you see._

My mother had given the same warning that Freya had, when I first showed the inclination towards spellcraft.

“Just like I knew you’d come back too,” I said more firmly. “Too damned stubborn not to.”

“I prefer to think of it as _skill_ ,” Sif protested. She was as steady as a rock at my side as we made our way through the city. I was fairly sober by that time, but it was nice to have someone to lean on.

“You’ll need all that skill, dearest--did you hear what Bodil was saying just now during the feast?”

We would still have a chariot race to celebrate this victory. Sif looked overjoyed at the news.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Preparations for the race continued as Asgard returned to its pre-war state. Most Asgardians were glad for the distraction and a great many ladies developed a keen interest in the sport. Gramma and Granna, to my mother’s secret dismay, stayed on in the main city and competed to be the most vocal critic of how youngsters were not doing things the way they used to be done. As they actually had driven chariots in their heyday, I tried my best to get a few tips from them.

My aunt Hilda had winked at me when she had brought her horses over as promised. “Oh the stories I’ve got wouldn’t be a patch on what that pair could tell you,” she said. “Where is your mother? Having another headache again, I’d wager.”

I avoided getting headaches by seeing to the new horses--such lovely beasts my aunt had loaned to us--and working on our vehicle whenever I had time away from the Palace and away from chores at home. Sif and I consulted often with Hogun, who had weaponised the wheels of the chariot and retooled the harnesses for the speeds required for a race.

On the day we finally tried harnessing our borrowed horses to the refurbished chariot, Granna and Gramma were in the audience. As were my sisters, Sif’s friends and any number of interested bystanders. 

“You’re making the horses nervous--shoo,” I said, half-heartedly flapping my arms at my sisters. They had grown fond of the horses--Amel and Amon--and always fed them treats. Amel and Amon munched on the carrots that they had been given as they were harnessed, placid and unperturbed by the crowd and the strange vehicle behind them.

“They look fine,” Hogun said after the last few adjustments. “Your aunt did well when she chose these two.”

“We’ll only know once they start running,” I pointed out.

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” Sif admonished as she climbed on board. My sisters stepped back and looked as though they were betting on whether we would fall off or the chariot would shudder to pieces first. 

“Realist,” I countered as I got in and took the pair of reins from Hogun. He looked pleased his work and I hoped that it would hold. The gleaming metal spikes on the wheels were all well and good, but the chariot remaining connected to the horses was more important. This was not my aunt’s war chariot with the aerial propulsion and hover functions that made for a smoother ride. The horses had not been spelled to fly. Past experience told me that we were going to feel every jolt.

I flicked the pair of reins gently and Amel and Amon moved forward, just like all the other practice sessions with the dummy chariot frame. We gained momentum and I let the horses do what they were trained to do as we left the courtyard behind us. 

We had elected to head away from the city to avoid any unfortunate accidents. It would also be wise to keep out of sight of the competition. We were not naturally secretive--well, _Sif_ was not naturally secretive--but we were infected by the fever of the competition and we did not wish the others to see our progress. I for one would rather not be seen crashing into something or flung out of the chariot if it overturned. We might not be seriously hurt, but it would be a major setback.

Sif whooped as we started to pick up speed. I was just glad that no-one could make out the expression on my face when we hit that first rut in the road. 

Earlier trials had taught me that leaving my hair to flap about like an unruly banner was not a good idea and I had tied it back securely. I needed a clear field of view to drive the chariot. Sif had bound her dark hair back and considered donning a helm for the actual race for protection. 

“It would be nice if the others weren’t armed and ready to fight as well,” I had commented once during the preparations.

Not bumping into Sif every time the car bounced up would have made the experience better, but we had to adapt to the movements of the chariot as it sped down the causeway leading to one of the outer islands. This was still the smooth part of the route.

When passing any surface that was not as smooth as the well-maintained city roads . . . well, it did prove that even Asgardians could be shaken hard enough to rattle their teeth in their skulls.

We were hailed from behind while making our away across an unpaved stretch of road on one of the outer islands.

Thor, Loki and the Warriors Three had opted to ride along to watch our maiden--ha, that was an unfortunate pun that popped into my head at an inappropriate time--outing in the chariot. Their steeds, unencumbered by the weight of a chariot, were able to keep pace with us easily.

Thor and the others waved in greeting and Sif managed to wave back with her lance--she had insisted on going armed to simulate the conditions during the actual race. I had the pair of reins wrapped around the bracers of both my arms for Asgardian horses were corresponding stronger than their Midgardian counterparts. I managed to roll my eyes while trying to keep my balance and I think Hogun and Loki caught it. Loki laughed--a little too smugly for my taste. Or perhaps it was just my head trying to detach itself from my neck as we went over several potholes and a ridiculous number of rocks in quick succession. 

The axle underneath the car had held through all the jouncing. My grandfather would be elated by the news. Sif and Hogun certainly looked pleased by the chariot’s performance as I finally decided that enough was enough and reined in the horses. We slowed down as the horses approached a wide stretch of beach and I was glad to feel a cool breeze against my sweaty forehead instead of wind laced with fine grit.

“It looks as though Hogun might have another career as a restorer of vintage chariots!” Fandral called out jovially as the riders drew up to where our chariot had stopped.

“It remains to be seen if the car will hold up after going through obstacles.” Hogun dismounted to check the chariot while I unwound the reins from my bracers. Sif looked thoughtful, for Bodil had promised that there would be a few surprises along the race route.

I pretended to faint melodramatically. "Have a care--this is a family heirloom. And we are not meant to bounce about like that--stabiliser spells were crafted for a reason!"

"Those aren't allowed in the race," Hogun said with very little sympathy for the drivers of his precious restored chariot. "You will have to drive with some skill to preserve it."

"This responsibility weighes on me," I muttered as I disembarked from the car. "My aunt and my mother were trained charioteers, but it's hardly an inherited trait."

"We have plenty of time to practise," Sif said, undaunted by the prospect of more training sessions.

"If I wasn't your friend, dearest, I would pull you down," I threatened. So it was unsurprising that Loki and his brother spotted mock-tussling in front of Hogun and the chariot when they dismounted. Hogun did not even bat an eyelash as he checked the horses over and fed them carrots.

Thor unwisely made a comment about how such sport would find a good audience in the city and Sif left off pummeling me to treat him to an earful. Loki had a good laugh as he dismounted to stand over me.

"I almost had her," I said from my prone position on the ground.

"Yes, dear, I'm sure you almost did." Loki extended a hand down to me and smirked. "I suspect that we should not have interrupted you two."

"Credit me with the sense to choose a more comfortable spot!" I huffed as I debated pulling him down or kicking him in the shins.

"Well, I might. . . if you were not intending something violent as I can clearly see from the gleam in your eye. Save it for your race, Sigyn."

"The Norns only know if we survive to make it past the starting line," I grumbled as he helped me up.

"The Norns know you two are stubborn enough," Loki said and we turned to look at Sif and Thor, running about on the sand like children.

"Was that a compliment?"

"You'll both take it that way no matter what I originally meant."

That earned him a push from me and we were off again. Hogun shook his head indulgently at the sight of us all behaving like children.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
